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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176962">A Nest of Vipers</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarbaraKaterina/pseuds/BarbaraKaterina'>BarbaraKaterina</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Promise Fulfilled [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire &amp; Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Female Friendship, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Warg Bran Stark, not everything is great but some things are better</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 02:22:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>85,519</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27176962</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BarbaraKaterina/pseuds/BarbaraKaterina</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa, Jon and their aunt head to King’s Landing to demand justice. Catelyn awaits – and dreads – their arrival, while back in Winterfell Bran contends with Robb’s new betrothed and his own improving warg abilities. And the Reach is re-entering the game...</p><p>
  <i>AU of the books, spanning late AGOT and early ACOK time-wise, and sequel to A Pack of Wolves.</i>
</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Barbrey Dustin &amp; Jon Snow, Barbrey Dustin &amp; Sansa Stark, Barbrey Dustin &amp; Tyrion Lannister, Bran Stark &amp; Robb Stark, Jojen Reed &amp; Bran Stark, Jon Snow &amp; Sansa Stark, Margaery Tyrell &amp; Olenna Tyrell, Petyr Baelish &amp; Catelyn Tully Stark, Wynafryd Manderly/Robb Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Promise Fulfilled [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1983625</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>533</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>174</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to book 2, everyone! King's Landing shenanigans are about to begin.</p><p>A couple of warnings: one, this won't update as fast as the previous installment, at least not until I have enough of a buffer written. Still should be at least once  per week, though.</p><p>And two, for my Cat-loving fam out there: this installment is going to be hard for Cat, I think perhaps the hardest in some ways. So I'm warning you ahead of time to be ready. It's nothing as brutal as what she goes thorough in canon, really (to be fair, that's hard to match), but there will still be a lot of scenes where she is frustrated and unhappy and not many that would actually bring her happiness. Which is why I said this installment might be the hardest for her, because though there will be other difficult things in her future, there will also be moments of joy, too. Just, uh, not really in this book. But to be fair, literally no POV character is happy in this book, maybe except for Bran?</p><p>And on that cheerful note, happy reading!</p>
    </blockquote><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Robb prays.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Robb knelt in front of the heart tree, praying. </p><p>He prayed for his father's peaceful rest and for justice for him, that his family would discover the truth and find enough proof to convince the king to exact justice.</p><p>He prayed for Sansa and Jon and Aunt Barbrey to arrive safely to King’s Landing, and for Bran to be all right without them, </p><p>And he prayed for himself, that he would handle Winterfell without his aunt and Jon by his side.</p><p>He had never expected to have to do this. His aunt, he had known, would return to her wn Dustin lands once all of them were grown up, but Jon had been supposed to be by his side always. They had it all planned between them – Bran would be the one leading the armies, travelling far and wide where Robb sent him, and Jon would be by his side to help and advice him.</p><p>But Father had died too soon, and Bran was eight and could not travel anywhere on his own, and so Jon had had to go, and losing both him and Aunt Barbrey at the same time was...hard.</p><p>Still, he agreed with her. Jon and Sansa would need her more in the capital, and he prayed desperately that her help would be enough, and that the support he had left here would be enough for him.</p><p>And he prayed that his betrothal would go well well and that his marriage would be happy. </p><p>He was satisfied with the betrothal, or satisfied enough at least. He wasn’t in love with Lady Wynafryd – certainly nothing even remotely close to the temporary madness that seemed to have befallen Jon when it came to Lady Ryella – but he liked her well enough, and he agreed with his aunt that she would be a good lady of Winterfell. And she was friendly, though not in such an open way as Wylla, and she didn’t seem to look down on him even though she was older than him. He hoped that maybe with her by his side, he would look a little older too, that it would help his bannermen take him more seriously. Not that he’d experienced any disrespect, but he also hadn’t spoken to lords Umber or Bolton yet, not in person, and he knew that was where it would come from.</p><p>Hi aunt had assured him that as a married man, and preferably with a son of his own, he would be taken much more seriously. He prayed she was right, and he prayed that no one would take offense at his marriage to Lady Wynafryd in particular.</p><p>He also prayed that Lady Wynafryd would not turn out to be too southern for herself and her comfort here, too unsuited to Winterfell, so that it would not be her own disposition, instead of others’ disapproval, that would sour her years.</p><p>And with that, his thoughts stayed to his mother. </p><p>He always felt a little guilty, thinking of her in the godswood, knowing that she never worshipped or even liked the gods. But one had to be honest before a heart tree, and so if his thoughts went there, he wouldn't pretend they didn't. </p><p>He wondered how she was doing, down in the south, after Father's death. She was not a particularly good person, he knew, but he still worried for her. After all, Aunt Barbrey always said that she herself wasn't a nice person either, and he worried about her as well. And no amount of coldness towards Jon could change the fact that Lady Catelyn was the woman who had sung him to sleep when he was little, into whose bed he’d climbed when he’d been afraid in the night. He knew Sansa saw it differently, but to him, that would always mean some loyalty.</p><p>It would always mean she deserved his prayers.</p><p>His mother was southern, of course, so she was probably fine in King’s Landing, much more fine than Jon and Sansa would be, but still, it had been many years since she was South, and she had never lived in the capital. And what if the people who killed Father wished to kill her too? </p><p>He shook himself. His mother was fine. She would hardly appreciate him fretting over her. If someone could take care of herself, it was her. He hadn't seen her vulnerable for years, and sometimes he doubted if his memories of his mother's tears when he'd been younger were real at all. </p><p>Lady Catelyn, many in Winterfell claimed, had a heart of stone. </p><p>He supposed that was what he prayed for, then, that her heart of stone would last, that it wouldn't be cracked by the events. Surely, even for a woman who had no respect for the gods, he could ask for that much at least?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For the longest time, I didn't know what to put in as prologue for this installment, and then I decided to use this as a chance to get a glimpse of Robb's POV.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Catelyn I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Catelyn gets news about the party headed south.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It had been exactly two turns of the moon since Lord Stark died.</p>
<p>Catelyn was not much clearer on how she felt about it than she had been at the beginning, but one feeling at least was obvious enough: relief.</p>
<p>She imagined this was what knights felt like when a battle ended and they could finally rest.</p>
<p>Her entire marriage had been a constant battle, to get some basic respect from her husband, to get some rights for herself, to not completely wither in the harsh North.</p>
<p>And now it was over.</p>
<p>She still lived in the Red Keep, in her rooms in the Tower of the Hand. Petyr warned her it would soon become less acceptable, but as her children would be arriving soon to carry Lord Stark’s bones North, she would be allowed to keep her quarters until the visit was over.</p>
<p>What happened after that...well, that was a question.</p>
<p>She had written to her father, hinted at being able to come home. But her father was ill and it was Edmure who’d replied, saying that she was of course welcome to visit for as long as she wished to, but that surely she would prefer to be with her children after that. They are still young, he wrote, and implied it would not be proper if she abandoned them.</p>
<p>As if it had been proper when her husband had raised his bastard at her table, and had Lady Dustin take over all of the duties that belonged to her by rights.</p>
<p>But there was no sense going over that again. It was over and done with, and she had no need to return to it. Her children would come and go again, and then she would perhaps go to Riverrun for a few moons, and then…</p>
<p>Petyr had offered to get her settled in any way she liked – gods knew he had the money – but she knew how that would look, and so did he, apologizing that he could not take the impropriety away from any offer he wished to make her.</p>
<p>He had remained as indispensable to her as he had been just after Lord Stark died. She had feared he would abandon her after her assumed first period of grief – or rather confusion, for he knew she had no love for her husband – passed, but he had stayed steadfast as ever. Catelyn knew the value of that.</p>
<p>He also helped her find her feet in court on her own. She was no longer the Hand’s wife now, and her position was different. There were no longer scores of women vying for her attention. But that was better, in a way – she was free to form true friendships on more equal ground. She was free to make her own name in court. </p>
<p>She had kept mostly to herself the first month, playing the grieving widow, but now she was slowly venturing outside of the Tower more and more often, looking for courtly friendships with the ladies Petyr had recommended. Lady Chelsted, to her immense pleasure, had not abandoned her after Lord Stark’s death, and in fact did her best to offer support. Catelyn could not bear much of that, as she could not afford to tell the woman her true feelings on the matter, but now that it was becoming acceptable to speak of other things again, their friendship could continue unhindered.</p>
<p>But there were other new friendships, too. Lady Mallery was a little younger than Catelyn, but she was a charming woman with two daughter just lively enough Catelyn could dote on them without being too reminded of Sansa. Lady Rykker, on the other hand, was older than Catelyn by some years and with children uncomfortably close in age to hers. That caused Catelyn some discomfort, but at least most of them were not in the capital, but back at Dun Fort instead.</p>
<p>Catelyn felt like she finally had the female companionship she had been missing all those years. It was not quite like with Lysa, of course – while Petyr had told her these ladies were trustworthy enough, he had also told her never to trust anyone at court entirely in the same breath, so she was careful with what she shared with them, and avoided talking of Lord Stark, acting as if grief made it too difficult. Still, in all other ways she could speak freely with them, as long as she steered conversation away from children every time it came to it. It was a precious gift, she knew, and she valued it appropriately.</p>
<p>There were still sources of grief, of course, chiefly in her estranged children. Robb, she had learned from his curt letter a few short weeks ago, was now betrothed. If there was one thing she had always hoped she might have a hand in regarding her children, it was choosing their betrothals, and yet with Sansa first and now Robb it had been taken out of her hands, and it hurt. But in spite of that, she could not find it in herself to be displeased. Sansa, of course, had the most prestigious betrothal she could ask for, and Robb’s...well, she could not have picked better herself. She might have wished differently – might have wished for a proper southern bride for her eldest son – but she  knew the North enough to know that would not be accepted, and she would never wish her fate on another woman. For all that she liked to think Robb would not treat a wife the way Lord Stark had, it would still not be a pleasant life. But the Manderlys were as southern as they could be in the North, they followed the Faith, and she knew Wynafryd Manderly. She knew she was as close to a southern lady as she could ever hope for Robb to marry. She was convinced the alliance must have been his own idea – no one else in Winterfell, she was sure, would suggest a family so divorced of their precious northern traditions. She was very proud of her eldest son for insisting on his choice and pushing it through, and had written her warm congratulations even as the sting in her heart from not having a hand in the betrothal lessened.</p>
<p>And apart from that, for the past month, she had been happy at court, or at least happier than she had been in the last eight years.</p>
<p>Sometimes she contemplated Lord Stark’s death a little worriedly, wondering if there had been some plot behind it and if she should be concerned, if it put her in danger as well. Mostly, though, she managed to push it into the background. As likely as not, it was just some sordid affair of Lord Stark bringing its inevitable fruit, and if not, then it was related to the death of Jon Arryn – which, while certainly serious, did not truly concern her either. She did sort of idly wish she would know more, and had written to her sister about it, hoping that they could perhaps become closer again in their shared widowhood, but her responses, when they came at all, were curt and refused to discuss anything at all, and so on that front, Catelyn was resigned. She missed her sister, in a way, but it had been so long since her letters have been anything but formulaic that it was more a fond memory of childhood than any actual living relationship between them.</p>
<p>Catelyn was musing on that, once again, when Petyr brought her the news: Her daughter, Lady Dustin and the bastard were coming to the capital together, for Lord Stark’s bones.</p>
<p>Catelyn had thought she was done with the shame forever, but no, her children clearly intended to spit in her face as much as their father had. She should not be surprised.</p>
<p>Apparently, they meant to stop in Gulltown on the way and spread the shame there too. They sent a raven ahead there to announce who would be coming, which was how Petyr had found out about it. He was apologetic and gentle in telling her, and then comforted her when she tried her tears of humiliation.</p>
<p>“You must be strong, Cat,” he said. “Especially as I fear that...Lady Dustin and the bastard might whisper all sorts of things into your daughter’s ear.”</p>
<p>She dried her eyes and looked up at him. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“You were here when their father died, and from what you said, they loved him, while the woman had turned him against you completely.”</p>
<p>Catelyn simply nodded in agreement. </p>
<p>Petyr sighed. “Well...I don’t wish to be unnecessarily suspicious, but with such a woman...and of course everyone knows what bastards are like...” He shook his head. “Remember, my time at court had taught me to think like these people do. I fear she might have whispered into her ear that you had something to do with Lord Stark’s death.”</p>
<p>Catelyn straightened, her eyes widening in shock. “She wouldn’t!” She exclaimed.</p>
<p>Petyr seemed surprised. “Are you certain of that woman’s character…?”</p>
<p>“No – there’s nothing she wouldn’t do,” Catelyn assured him. “But my daughter wouldn’t believe it. Whatever she might think of me...she is still my daughter.”</p>
<p>Petyr looked unconvinced. “Well, I hope you are right. You know her best, certainly, and it is possible my time at court has simply made me too mistrustful, at least of anyone I don’t know as well as you.”</p>
<p>She smiled at him, but she was distracted. Did she know Sansa best? She could hardly say so, and there was another thing: Sansa was only eleven, to be twelve in a few days. She was a child. How was she to know better, with the woman and the bastard whispering into her ear? No, Catelyn imagined her sweet, innocent daughter would be entirely defenseless against such poison. The thought turned her stomach.</p>
<p>Then another horrifying idea came to her mind. What if she spoke to the king? Would Robert not believe the daughter of his beloved Ned, over a woman he must have known he’d disliked, even though she had been his wife?</p>
<p>A seed of fear was taking hold in Catelyn’s belly.</p>
<p>“What am I to do?” She asked Petyr, her voice, to her dismay, a little tinged with desperation.</p>
<p>He sighed. “I'm not sure there is anything you can do. It is not as if you can walk up to your daughter and tell her you have not killed your husband. That would only make her more suspicious.”</p>
<p>“There has to be something!” Catelyn insisted. Surely she would not be forced to simply sit and let the woman slander her? Surely she had some ways to defend her honour?</p>
<p>If she had been a man, she knew, she would have been able to challenge anyone who slighted her so to a duel. If she had her rights, she would have others to do it for her, to fight on her behalf. As it was, she was afraid that if she asked any of the Stark men in King’s Landing to defend her from the slander, it would only make them believe it.</p>
<p>Petyr sighed again. “I will try to talk to your daughter, if I am able,” he said, “and if I judge it would do some good – perhaps after I have met her and made her trust me a little – and convince her of your innocence, and of the falseness of those whispering into her ear.”</p>
<p>Catelyn nodded, but added: “I will speak to her as well, of course.”</p>
<p>Patyr seemed reluctant. “Of course you will,” he said, “but I am not certain if it will be helpful in any way, to confront the accusation directly. As I’ve said, it might only make her more suspicious.”</p>
<p>“Petyr, I cannot simply let her think that and leave it unaddressed,” Catelyn told him sternly.</p>
<p>He sighed for the third time. “I know, Cat, but what if I am wrong and she believes nothing of the sort? Then it would suddenly bring the suspicion to her mind. Please let me find out the lay of the land first, and then you can speak to her as openly as you wish.”</p>
<p>She exhaled. She didn’t like it, but she supposed he was right. “Very well, then,” she said quietly. “Thank you for your help, Petyr.”</p>
<p>He put his arm around her shoulders, and she took a deep breath, immediately feeling calmer. Yes, it was all going to be all right.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Robb: it was totally aunt barbrey that came up with the idea of the betrothal!<br/>Cat: robb is so smart to come up with this idea of the betrothal!<br/>meanwhile Sansa: bitches im right here</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Sansa I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sansa and company arrive in White Harbour.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ugh, sorry. I made this my official NaNoWriMo project, which was idiotic of me, because I’ve been doing NaNo for years and every single time before now, I ended up working on something else than what I officially declared. So of course this year was no different. But now I have 50k words of something completely unrelated (I finished early this year, wonder of wonders) and so I can finally come back to what I was supposed to be doing the whole time, so hopefully the updates will pick up again.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sansa was immensely grateful to see the walls of White Harbour come into sight. She would not have minded the journey down the White Fork, normally, but with Lady, it was a different matter. The direwolf didn’t like being so constricted in her movements, even if she took it better than Ghost, and Sansa didn’t even want to imagine what Summer or Grey Wind would have done. Lady and Ghost were the two best behaved of the litter, so if even they struggled…</p><p>But finally it would be over, and though the city would perhaps not be the best place for the direwolves, they could at least go to the godswood. Sansa had talked to Wylla and Wynafryd about White Harbor many times, and with Wylla especially on this journey, and knew all about the castle there, and how Wylla liked going for adventures to the old, abandoned keep. It striked Sansa as a little irreverent – she knew Wylla kept the new gods, but still – but when she’d said so to Aunt Barbrey, she’d laughed and said that the gods would bear witness to our happiness and youth as well as our somber prayers, and that as a northern lady, it was better that Wylla went to the godswood for adventure than if she had not gone there at all.</p><p>Sansa supposed that was true enough, and it wasn’t like she or her brothers were always perfectly reverent in the godswood. In fact, thinking of Bran, she had to admit that some of them were hardly reverent at all. Still, it felt a little different when it was <em>their</em> gods.</p><p>She shook off the musings as the walls were drawing closer. It wasn’t something for her to worry about, in any case, and so she focused on the pier just ahead of them, still a way off from the city walls. It took her a moment to realize why, that further in and closer to the sea, they would be too near the harbour and all the bigger ships to be found there. It could be dangerous, she supposed, for their river barge.</p><p>Sansa had visited White Harbour a few times before, but it had been years ago, when she was still a child. She had some memories of it, but they were not clear enough to remember details like this, and so now, as they approached the pier, she watched with interest as the men who manned the boats jumped up to tie them to the pier, helped by those who awaited them ashore, and as a wide plank was lowered into the boat to make disembarking easier. This pier was much better equipped than all the stopovers they’d spent nights at over their journey.</p><p>She accepted Jon’s hand to help her step out of the barge, and once she stood on solid ground, looked around herself. She’d always liked the idea of White Harbour, of a proper northern city, even if they did keep strange gods. And seeing the walls up close was impressive, almost as impressive as she remembered it.</p><p>They were all briefly welcomed by the honorary guard Lord Manderly had sent, and then they were led inside the city.</p><p>This was one aspect that Sansa remembered best, from her few visits: the bustling, lively atmosphere, unlike anything that could ever be achieved in Winter Town. There were so many people everywhere, and she could hear the calls of stall owners from a market nearby, selling fish and seafood, shouting their prices and the quality of their food one over the other.</p><p>She’d always found it intriguing, even though she could not imagine living in a place like this.</p><p>She tried not to think about King’s Landing being even bigger.</p><p>There was just something intimidating about cities, about so many people in one place, people you could never know anything about. It wasn’t like Winter Town, where they at least vaguely knew of all the families. Here, anyone you met in the street could be a mystery.</p><p>She shook the frivolous thoughts out of her head – she could hear how Aunt Barbrey would scold her if she knew what she’d been thinking – and focused more on the present.</p><p>Soon enough, she noticed one big difference from her previous visits: people were clearly terrified of Lady and Ghost here, even more than they had been in Winterfell and Winter Town. Even the soldiers Lord Manderly had sent kept shooting them wary looks, and the ordinary people in the street...most of them, when they caught a glimpse of the direwolves through the guards, began to run, and in some cases, scream.</p><p>Was it because in Winterfell, they’d known them from pups, or was it because, as Aunt Barbrey said, people of White Harbour were only half northern? Sansa didn’t know.</p><p>They progressed through the city, and as they did Ser Wylis and Wylla pointed out anything and everything interesting on the way. Sansa obligingly looked around. Ser Wylis tended to focus on the oldest, most majestic buildings to be found, while Wylla liked to call out little things like when they were passing a market or a favourite shop of hers. Hearing them like this, Sansa could almost see the attraction of living in a city after all. There was simply so much more to choose from!</p><p>The castle, when they finally reached it, was also impressive in a way – far from being as big as Winterfell, it was still a proud building, prouder than any other in the North she’d seen. Perhaps Dreadfort could measure up – she’d heard stories – but Sansa had no interest in finding out. All of the tales her aunt had told her were horror stories.</p><p>The honour guard led them into the main hall – the Merman’s Court, Sansa knew from Wylla – and she looked at the walls with interest. This, too, she remembered vaguely, all the creatures of the sea painted at the walls, but she had to admit that the effect was beautiful.</p><p>Lord Manderly sat at the opposite end of the hall, on the dais on a wide, cushioned chair. He really was very fat, but he welcomed them with a happy, booming laugh.</p><p>“You’re here,” he exclaimed, spreading his arms, and Wylla immediately rushed into them and into her grandfather’s tight embrace. When he let her go, he clapped Ser Wylis on the shoulder and let him go greet his brother before he turned to the Winterfell party and bowed to give them a more formal welcome.</p><p>“I have already said so in a raven message,” he added then, “but allow me to say once more, and in person, how deeply sorry I am for the lost of Lord Eddard.”</p><p>“Thank you for your kind words, my lord,” Sansa replied, knowing that duty fell to her. “We value and treasure them, as we do the trust you have given us in sending Lady Wynafryd into our care.”</p><p>“Ah, no need for thanks! Where else would she be better than in Winefell? Besides, she has her mother with her for now, and by the time she does not, she will be well at home there, I hope. But we can speak more of that at the feast, my lady. For now, let my people show you to your rooms, and rest after your long journey.”</p><p>Their whole party gratefully accepted, although Sansa couldn’t help thinking that the wolves would prefer to be outside to being confined to a small space again. But at least it would not be a boat.</p><p>Once in her room, Sansa looked out of the window with interest. It overlooked the sea, and as Sansa had never had much occasion to see it, she enjoyed it now. It was evening, the weather was calm and the sky clear, and she wished she could watch the sun set over it. But she was on the wrong shore for it, and she considered getting up early in the morning so that she could see it rise, at least.</p><p>There was a knock at her door, and then Alyssa sneaked in and immediately joined her by the window. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She said. “I missed this.”</p><p>“Can you see the sea from Ironoaks?” Sansa asked in surprise.</p><p>“On a bright day,” Alyssa replied. “So most of the summer, we can. And of course I have been to Old Anchor many times.”</p><p>Sansa had learned enough about the Vale in the last moons to know where it was, so she only nodded, her eyes not leaving the window, and they stood for a moment in companionable silence.</p><p>“Are you ready to say goodbye to Wylla?” Alyssa asked then.</p><p>“More ready then I am to say goodbye to you,” Sansa said with a sigh, pressing her friend’s hand.</p><p>“It won’t happen,” Alyssa said firmly. “The day when it will be decided is a ways away still, and our plan will work, I promise.”</p><p>Sansa sincerely hoped Alyssa was right. “I am worried I will forget some of the rules you taught me,” she admitted quietly. “I have never had to deal with anyone who cared about ceremony so much before. But it will be good practice for King’s Landing, I suppose.” Not that she thought the king cared about ceremony, but some others there might.</p><p>“Sansa, you remember them all perfectly,” Alyssa said with a smile. “I wish I could learn new things as fast as you learned everything I told you about how we do things in the Vale. I just,” she bit her lip. “I just worry about how Mother will react to Jon, especially if she hears about Ryella, if it won’t be enough to make her wish to keep me with her.”</p><p>Sansa, as always, was torn between being swept into the tragic love story that was her brother’s tale, and being angry because Jon’s foolishness had the potential to ruin all of her wishes and plans. But she loved her brother, and so compassion for him usually won out, as it did now. She did not respond aloud, though, for there was little she could say that would not insult either Alyssa’s mother or Jon, and she had no wish to do either.</p><p>“I should get ready for the feast,” Alyssa said after a moment. “And also...I share a room with Ryella, and...”</p><p>Sansa only nodded. She, too, was worried that with the time of their likely separation approaching, Jon and Ryella might decide to do something stupid, or at the very least give Ysilla another opportunity to try and shame them.</p><p>Alyssa left again, and Sansa continued looking out of the window for a moment longer before she, too, began to prepare for the feast.</p><p>It was much grander than Sansa had expected, given that the occasion was not any grand celebration. But it seemed Lord Manderly had decided to regard it as his own chance to celebrate his granddaughter’s betrothal, even if the granddaughter in question was not present, and the naming of Wylla his new heir after Ser Wylis.</p><p>“You will be a great lady of White Harbour one day, I know,” he was telling her now. “Though perhaps you will have to change the name of this hall, from Merman’s to Mermaid’s!”</p><p>He laughed, and Wylla laughed too, and Sansa laughed with them even as she cast a dubious look on the table. Most of the foods there were strange and unfamiliar to her, and she did not know what to make of them.</p><p>Ser Wendel, who was seated next to her, leaned over with a smile and began to explain all the different kinds of seafood. Sansa was relieved, and listened in silence for a time before she asked: “Which of them...which of them is most similar to usual meat, my lord?”</p><p>He laughed. “You better stick to the fish,” he said then, “unless...you might like the octopus, I think?”</p><p>Sansa did not like the octopus, and in fact had to struggle to stay polite as she tasted it, leading Ser Wendel to another bout of laughter. “Try the meat pies, then,” he said, resigned, and Sansa gratefully did.</p><p>Wylla noticed her reluctance to taste the new foods and came around to tease her about it loudly. But then, more quietly, she said: “I will miss you. All of you. Please be careful in the capital.”</p><p>Sansa nodded. “I will do my best,” she said, because it was the most she could promise.</p><p>“Remember, you will always have an ally here,” Wylla added. “Both you and...Robb,” she swallowed a little heavily at the name, and Sansa sighed and gave her a compassionate look. Jon’s dramatic relationship took most of her attention, but she knew Wylla’s sadness deserved some space in her heart too. She did not love Robb the same way Jon loved Ryella, but still. Sansa had not ever liked a boy in that way before, but if she had, she did not think she would have liked it at all if it was her sister – if she had a sister – who was to marry him.</p><p>“It is very magnanimous of you,” she said aloud.</p><p>Wylla smiled, though it was just a little sad too. “Well, Wyn is my sister, after all. And you are my friend. I won’t forget any of you Starks, I promise. And remember, I’m the heir now! Grandfather has to listen to me. I know he would act for Robb anyway, because of Wyn, but when it comes to you or Jon, just...I will always be here, whatever happens, all right?”</p><p>She sounded a little desperate, even, and Sansa realized with some guilt that Wylla would, possibly, miss her more than Sansa would miss her. Or perhaps not Sansa personally so much, but the whole of her experience in Winterfell, especially as with her new responsibilities, her life would be much less free now. Sansa, on the other hand, had been so wrapped up in Jon and Ryella and Alyssa possibly leaving her, she had hardly paid Wylla any mind at all.</p><p>She promised herself to pray for forgiveness later, and pressed Wylla’s hands between hers. “I will write to you all the time,” she said solemnly. “I will write so much you will grow tired of my letters.”</p><p>Wylla gave her a bright smile, and though her eyes glistened a little, it still looked so happy that Sansa promised herself very firmly that she would absolutely keep her word.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Tyrion I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tyrion begins his investigation.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tyrion had one great advantage over Ned Stark when it came to his investigations: no one thought it strange if he went to a brothel.</p>
<p>Consequently, he’d made a great show of announcing, the night after he learned of the Starks’ upcoming arrival as he was drinking with the king and his entourage, that he’d decided to undertake a project. He would explore every single brothel to be found in the city, and perhaps, hopefully, even every single whore that could be found in those brothels.</p>
<p>“Or at least all the pretty ones!” he added, raising his cup.</p>
<p>“Haven’t you done that already, my lord of Lannister?” Renly Baratheon asked him archly.</p>
<p>Tyrion waved his hand in a typical drunken fashion. “Only haphazardly,” he explained, with the seriousness of the very inebriated. “Now it will be systematic! One after the other!”</p>
<p>“And will you exhaust all the whores in one brothel first before you move to another?” A member of the king’s entourage whose name Tyrion couldn’t remember asked him, amused.</p>
<p>Tyrion decisively shook his head. “That could get boring,” he announced. “No, I think I will have one woman from every brothel, and go round and round like this until I run out of women.”</p>
<p>“Some of the town’s brothels are dirty, dangerous places,” another man warned him with a frown, getting Tyrion to frown in return.</p>
<p>“Well, all right,” he conceded. “Maybe I’ll only focus on the Street of Silk. Much better, cleaner whores there, anyway.”</p>
<p>There was a murmur of agreement around the table at those words. </p>
<p>“This is a very worthy idea,” the king announced with a booming laugh. “What brought it on?”</p>
<p>“My journey North!” Tyrion explained, then grew sombre. “I thought of it on my way by the sea. It wouldn’t have been appropriate before, of course, so soon after Lord Stark’s death, but now that it has been two moons...” He turned from the king, ho was now gazing despondently into his cup, to the others. “The North is so desolate!” He exclaimed. “Hardly any proper brothels to be found, except in White Harbour! Nothing at all like we have here! It made me realize I wasn’t paying our whores the proper diligence and gratitude!”</p>
<p>There was laugher all around, and some more encouraging murmurs, and some bets were exchanged on whether he would see his plan through or abandon it halfway because he found a whore he particularly liked, and then the company moved on to something else.</p>
<p>Tyrion left them not too long afterwards – playing drunker than he was when he was, in actuality, quite significantly drunk, was truly exhausting – and returned to his rooms.</p>
<p>He allowed the following day for nurturing his hangover, which he intentionally exaggerated a little, and then he began with his task.</p>
<p>He started his ramble through the Street of Silk somewhere entirely unrelated to any investigations, kept to the more high-end places first to make certain it would not take him too long to reach his true goal, and the first time he went to Chataya’s, he went only for a night with one of her beautiful girls.</p>
<p>It was only the second time that he asked for her daughter, specifically.</p>
<p>He’d heard from some lords at the Red Keep that the owner had a daughter working, and thought that it might be a good way to begin his investigation – until he saw her, and realized she was way, way too young for him.</p>
<p>“How old is she?” He asked Chataya with some shock.</p>
<p>“Sixteen,” the woman replied, without any trace of shame, and Tyrion had to wonder.</p>
<p>Of course, the first woman he’d slept with had been even younger, sweet and innocent-seeming, but that wasn’t the point, and not something he wanted to think about besides. It was one thing to sleep with a fifteen year old girl when one was fifteen oneself, and another entirely to let her fuck lecherous old men. Tyrion thought of what he knew, that the king loved this brothel in particular, and shuddered a little. The idea of a sixteen year old girl lying under the king...it was not pleasant. Nor was the idea of her lying under a dwarf, really - the poor girl surely deserved better. Yet if her mother thought it fine, what could he do about it?</p>
<p>And more importantly, what could he do if he wanted to find out about Robert’s death?</p>
<p>So he sighed, deciding that his reputation couldn’t really suffer any more anyway, and took the sixteen year old girl up to her room.</p>
<p>He even went as far as embracing her on the bed, kissing her - and he hated himself not just a little for the fact that it made him hard, even though the thought of her age was a continuous presence in his mind. But he ignored it to kiss her ear, and as he did so, whispered into it. But instead of lusty nonsense, it was a request for information.</p>
<p>He had no guarantee she had not been part of the plot herself, of course, but from what he’d heard, Chataya’s outrage at what had happened to Lord Stark sounded genuine, and there were no other cases of suspicious dealings in the place. And her business had honestly suffered after such an important man had been killed there, too, making it unlikely she’d have willingly taken part in the plot, so Tyrion thought it worth the risk, all in all.</p>
<p>Alayaya didn’t so much as blink, and continued her attentions as she whispered into his ear in return. “There was a worker here,” she said, voice low, “a favourite of the king.” She nipped at his throat, and he groaned. “She had a child by the king, a little girl.” Her hand sneaked down to Tyrion’s nipple. “Lord Stark came to talk to her when he was killed.” A tongue running around the shell of his ear. “But he didn’t know who he was looking for...he just asked for the girl Lord Arryn and Lord Stannis came to see.”</p>
<p>Alayaya lightly bit him in the ear right after that, stopping any reaction he might have given to the news and leading to another groan instead. She was very good at this, Tyrion had to concede.</p>
<p>He pulled her hair so that her ear was at his mouth, and asked: “Was it the same woman?”</p>
<p>Alayaya simply nodded, and sneaked a hand down his trousers. Tyrion clamped down at it immediately, and when she gave him a surprised look, shook his head.</p>
<p>She frowned up at him. “My lord?” She whispered.</p>
<p>“I’m sure you’re very good at what you do,” he replied, “but you are much too young for me.”</p>
<p>“Of course,” she immediately agreed. “I would not wish my lord to feel uncomfortable. But perhaps it would be wiser for you to stay a little longer?”</p>
<p>Tyrion nearly laughed at the idea of her worrying about his discomfort - but he supposed it was fair enough. He didn’t know how long she’d been working, but she didn’t seem like she was entirely new to the job, and so she was probably used to it by now, at least to a degree. So she might well be right, that it was more about his comfort than hers.</p>
<p>They settled next to to each other on the bed, lying quietly and Tyrion hoping no one was thorough enough in investigating him that they’d be listening at the door, and then he finally allowed himself to contemplate what he’d just learned.</p>
<p>Why did the old Hand and Stannis go to see Robert’s bastard? Had it been at the king’s behest?</p>
<p>Tyrion didn’t think Robert had ever shown any care for his bastards before, but on the other hand, why would he know? It’s not like he could have done so openly, Cersei would have gelded him. And, Tyrion realized, had he needed someone to do the job, he’d have certainly asked Jon Arryn to arrange it.</p>
<p>On the other hand, the man would have hardly gone himself, would he? Jon Arryn had actually been a capable politician and Hand. He would have sent someone else, and most certainly he would not have gone with Stannis.</p>
<p>Lord Stark, of course, was another matter. It wouldn’t surprise Tyrion at all if he found out the man had simply gone in person to arrange it, had Robert asked it of him. After all, he did keep his own bastard with him in Winterfell. But Alayaya said he hadn’t even known what he came to the brothel for, only that it was to see what Arryn and Stannis had been doing. Likely, he’d been investigating Arryn’s death, and it led him here. Whether it was significant or not was a question, of course.</p>
<p>Surely Cersei wouldn’t be so foolish as to have Arryn and Stark killed just because they went to see a bastard of Robert’s? No, it truly did seem from his sister’s behaviour that it hadn’t been her job. She was not smart enough to lie half so convincingly. There had to be something else behind it.</p>
<p>But who else, in all seven heavens, would even care about something like that?</p>
<p>He leaned over Alayaya to give her a kiss on her neck and asked quietly: “Can I speak to the woman?”</p>
<p>“She is no longer here,” Alayaya replied. “She was too afraid to remain working.”</p>
<p>Well, Tyrion could understand that, but he very much wondered what happened to her. Still, it was unlikely she would be able to tell him anything. No, the only lead he was left with was Robert’s bastard, or possibly bastards.</p>
<p>He bid goodbye to Alayaya, who cheerfully told him to come back any time he wished for company, and went down to his horse waiting in the small stables, approaching it with a resigned expression. </p>
<p>This was a much more unpleasant duty, especially as he had left the brothel unsatisfied, but there was no helping it.</p>
<p>When he had considered where he could discuss his investigation and the children’s progress with Lady Dustin once she arrived in the capital, he quickly realized there was no place in the Red Keep that could be considered truly secure, but that her love of riding represented an opportunity. And to lend the excuse more credence, he’d started riding out with just a few Lannister men as soon as it had occurred to him, so that by the time she came, it would be well-established as his new habit. At least this was a duty the men enjoyed, and so he knew there would be no complaints.</p>
<p>They enjoyed waiting for him in the brothel, he knew, just as much. Not that they could afford the prices there, but at least they could look. Chataya had beautiful girls, there was no denying that.</p>
<p>He climbed up into the saddle, and they set out of the city, the men falling in line behind him. As much as riding was mostly uncomfortable for him, he had to admit that it was good to at least breathe something that was not the city’s foul air for a time every few days. It reminded him not the whole of Westeros was such a sewer as the capital.</p>
<p>But now as he rode along the roads by the Blackwater, his mind was churning over the possibilities of what he’d just learned. Bastards. Robert’s bastards. What could they have to do with anything? They were hardly a secret, everyone knew the king had them. Why would anyone want to see them in person? And a newborn one, to boot? A newborn girl, even more so. She was of no use to anyone at all.</p>
<p>The first he needed to find out, he supposed, was whether the girl was an outlier. Was she the only child of Robert’s Arryn went to see? Did he go to see every single child of Robert’s after it was born? And how could Tyrion find the others without ending up the way Arryn had?</p>
<p>He shook his head. Well, there was always his Oldtown plan. It had been conceived of to keep him safe from Robert, but it would be just as useful to keep him safe from the unknown killer. He only needed to last long enough for the Starks to come and give him updates on their warging. After that, if he wished, he could flee and never have anything to do with these dangerous games again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For those of you who think Tyrion wouldn’t hesitate about sleeping with a 16 yo, this is actually his canon reaction to seeing Alayaya. He used to be a pretty decent guy before he got to the point where he’s fucking enslaved women…</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Bran I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bran climbs walls and overhears conversations.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bran didn’t like that so many people were gone.</p>
<p>First it was Father, then Aunt Barbrey and Sansa and Jon, and he worried that soon enough he would lose Robb as well and then he’d be entirely alone.</p>
<p>Though even if Robb left, Bran supposed he might leave Wynafryd behind, and that was something, at least. She wasn’t as fun as Wylla, but Bran liked her all the same, and he’d like her better as the Lady of Winterfell than he had Mother, he thought.</p>
<p>Even though...well, if he was completely honest, maybe he missed Mother a little, too.</p>
<p>He hadn’t at first, not when Aunt Barbrey had still been here, but with so many people gone, he thought he would have liked one of her too tight embraces, too.</p>
<p>He frowned, and shook himself. He was almost a man grown, and with Jon not here it was up to him to help Robb how he could, and he was too old to be crying for Mother like a baby. </p>
<p>He decided not to leave himself brooding, and to go out and play with Summer instead. Robb still didn’t want him to warg when he was alone, not being watched over by Robb, but Bran sometimes disobeyed. It was fun being Summer. Sometimes Bran went with him to the godswood and let him find interesting things and then play with them himself. He wished he could do that in the wolfswood, but he knew he’d never be allowed there without an escort, and with an escort everyone would see what he was doing, as he’d learned on his trip with Myranda and Wylla. That was irritating.</p>
<p>He frowned when he thought about them. He missed Wylla – with her and Jon both gone, he had no one but the Poole boys to play with, and Wyl was boring and Tym was a baby. And Robb was always busy now.</p>
<p>And when he thought of Myranda, he frowned even deeper, because he still wasn’t sure what she knew about him and his warging. He didn’t tell anyone that she maybe suspected him, not even Aunt Barbrey, even though he knew he probably should have, because he knew his aunt would be angry with him for warging in front of the girls and without anyone to oversee him, and sitting on a pony, too. So many reasons to be angry, and so maybe Aunt would have forbidden him from going outside or climbing or something, and Bran didn’t want that. Without any distractions, all he could think of was Father.</p>
<p>So he hadn’t told anyone, and Myranda hadn’t said anything to him, but he worried if she’d say something to people in the Vale. Part of him wanted to think that it didn’t matter what the Valemen thought, that the North didn’t have to care about that, but he remembered what Sansa had said to him a short while before she left. ‘We thought we didn’t have to care about the south,’ she had said, ‘and look what happened.’</p>
<p>So Bran didn’t know if he should worry or not, but in any case it was too late now to do anything about it. He hadn’t told his aunt and now he couldn’t because everyone was already gone, somewhere out on he sea, sailing from White Harbour to Gulltown. Bran knew because they had a raven from the Harbour, telling them that everyone left all right and that everything was fine. Which was good, of course, only...only, well, Bran was nervous.</p>
<p>He really needed to go and do something, he decided, and got up from the floor of his room where he’d been sitting wrapped around Summer to see what was happening outside.</p>
<p>There was no one in the training yard, and Bran didn’t go to the godswood again – he was spending so much time there lately, it was becoming a little boring. Instead, he decided to go climbing. He hadn’t been doing that as much since he got Summer, because warging gave him a different ways to explore places he wouldn’t be allowed in normally, but now, with everyone gone and little to do, he was coming back to it. And there was no one to shout at him or be alarmed when he climbed very high now, too, so that was a good thing. At least there were some advantages to people being gone.</p>
<p>Bran, knowing the castle and comfortable with it, was soon high on its walls.</p>
<p>He continued upwards, sometimes pausing by windows when he saw or heard something interesting, collecting tidbits of information about which maid was angry with which servant and what day the kitchens were planning to make sweet pies, when he heard Wynafryd’s voice. It caught him off guard, because he was not anywhere near the Stark family rooms where he would normally expect to find her, and so he paused next to the window he heard it from. Thankfully there was a ledge nearby, allowing Bran to settle quite comfortably and still hear what was being said.</p>
<p>“Mother, it is fine,” Wynafryd was insisting now, in a tone that said it was not the first time she was giving the reassurance.</p>
<p>“It is not fine!” Her mother, Lady Leona, was saying in that alarmed voice she had. “Have you seen how big those creatures are, and they are like to grow bigger with time. It is dangerous, Wyn!”</p>
<p>She was talking about the direwolves, Bran realized, and scowled fiercely at what Lady Leona was saying.</p>
<p>“They have never harmed anyone in all their lives,” Wynafryd retorted, and Bran, from his position on the wall, nodded vigorously though no one could see him.</p>
<p>“That is only a matter of time!” Lady Leona protested. “You cannot keep wolves as pets, let alone direwolves.”</p>
<p>“And yet all the Starks do, even Bran, who is eight,” Wynafryd replied, sounding exasperated. It made Bran frown even more. She said he was eight like she was saying he was four. But he was only a little younger than Sansa, and Sansa was old enough to represent them in King’s landing now! </p>
<p>“What do you expect me to do?” Wynafryd asked her mother.</p>
<p>“Convince your betrothed to get rid if it,” Lady Leona replied immediately, “or at least keep it in the kennels! It is absurd!”</p>
<p>There was a short silence, filling Bran with fear, and then he heard Wynafryd’s voice. “Mother,” she said, and she was sharper than before, no trace of the fond exasperation left, “if I did something like that, Robb would be much more likely to get rid of me, betrothal or no betrothal.”</p>
<p>“Do not be absurd,” her mother retorted. “We have an agreement, the Starks are honourable-”</p>
<p>“-and yet the old Lord Stark still gave precedence to his bastard over his noble wife,” Wynafryd interrupted, again with that new sharpness. “They understand honour differently than we do, Mother. I have heard Robb say it once: ‘when winter comes, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.’ The pack is everything to them, Mother, and the direwolves are part of it.”</p>
<p>“They are not actually animals-” Lady Leona began.</p>
<p>“Perhaps not,” her daughter interrupted her again, “but this is the code they live by. Please, trust me in this. I have been living here long enough to know this much. I have a good chance for a happy marriage now, I believe, certainly happier than Lady Stark had. If I ask something like that of Robb, all that hope will be lost.”</p>
<p>There was a long silence, then Lady Leona, sounding more subdued, asked: “Do you not mind?”</p>
<p>“Does it matter?” Lady Wynafryd replied, with a strange tone in her voice than made Bran frown in confusion. What were they even talking about?</p>
<p>Lady Leona made a sound of dismay, and Bran heard Wynafryd chuckle, though it didn’t sound very happy. “Please understand, Mother,” she said then. “This is not even only about Grandfather’s alliances. This is about the future of the North. The Starks are vulnerable right now, and if they are vulnerable, everyone who lives here is vulnerable. I can help with that. There has only ever been one choice.”</p>
<p>“My daughter should not be the one to pay the price,” Lady Leona insisted.</p>
<p>“What price am I paying, that I would not pay anyway otherwise, with less to compensate for it?” Wynafryd asked. “I was always to be married.”</p>
<p>“You could have been the lady of White Harbour one day,” came the protest.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Wynafryd agreed, “and then it would have been Wylla paying the price. Sparing her that, giving her a chance to be free the way I know she needs to be, was one of the many reasons I never hesitated.” Wynafryd gave a small sigh. “But truly, Mother, I have nothing to complain of. Yes, my betrothed has his little idiosyncrasies, but what man does not? It might seem terrible to you that his take the form of large wolves, but frankly, it is more pleasing to me than most others would be. And if I suddenly had the gods offer me to change one thing about him, it would not be the wolves, believe me. It would have been a steep price to pay for safety of the North if I thought he was without honour, if I thought he was like to mistreat me, if I thought him a cruel or a bad man. But I do not. Robb is kind, when he remembers to be, and he always means well, and he always tries to do his best. He tries his best to love me, too. What more can I ask of a husband? So I will give him my best in turn, and I will have a good marriage. I will. I will not become another Lady Catelyn.”</p>
<p>There was a long silence after that, and when Bran very cautiously peered in the window, he could see the two ladies were embracing, and it didn’t seem like they were going to say anything more interesting, so Bran carefully climbed down the wall and returned to his room to snuggle Summer again and think about what he’d just heard.</p>
<p>His first idea was that he should go speak to Robb, but what would he say? It wasn’t that Wynafryd said anything bad exactly. True, she as good as said that she didn’t love Robb, but as much as Bran didn’t like it, he realized no one really expected her to. They weren’t getting married because they were in love, they were getting married because of the alliance and children. Otherwise Robb would have been marrying Wylla. And she said she would do her best, so maybe that meant she would try to love Robb, just like she said he was trying to love her?</p>
<p>She thought Robb was a good person and she liked him, too, and she defended the direwolves. That was always going to be a very good recommendation to Bran. He wondered if he should tell Robb bout Lady Leona disliking them, bu then he wasn’t sure Robb wouldn’t scold him for climbing the walls and for eavesdropping, so he decided not to for not, not unless he saw Lady Leona being mean to the wolves.</p>
<p>And that left him with only one other thing to contemplate: Lady Wynafryd’s firm statement that she would never become Lady Catelyn.</p>
<p>What exactly did she mean?</p>
<p>Bran could understand not wanting to become like his mother very easily, of course - his mother was often mean and unpleasant, for all that Bran now sometimes missed her embraces, and who would really want to be like her? But it didn’t sound like Wynafryd meant it that way. She had been talking about her marriage, not about her personality. She had said that she did not want to have a marriage like his parents had.</p>
<p>Bran could understand that too, but…this was where he was confused. His parents had a bad marriage because his mother was a mean, unpleasant person. So if Wynafryd wasn’t  - and she wasn’t, for all that Bran still felt as if she should be feeling more enthusiastic about marrying his brother - and Robb wasn’t either, why would they have a bad marriage?</p>
<p>He scowled into Summer’s fur. This was all too complicated. “I’m never getting married,” he announced. “This is just too much trouble.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next up: a new POV!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Margaery I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The Tyrell ladies react to a changed situation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I've been looking forward to this chapter for so long!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Margaery thought that Loras' visits to Highgarden were really just as frequent as they needed to be. </p><p>She liked seeing him – he was the brother closest to her in age, after all – but he was also the most different, and when she saw him too often or for too long, she began to weary of him. </p><p>It wasn't that he was stupid exactly, but his cunning was hidden under so much pride and fluster, it was difficult to find it most of the time. </p><p>So she had already been in two minds about his unscheduled visit even without Grandmother telling her of the scheme he’d concocted.</p><p>“Becoming Queen?” She said. “But…you’ve always told me...”</p><p>“I’ve always told you to stay away from the nest of vipers that was the capital, yes,” her grandmother agreed. “However, unfortunately, my son is an idiot. That’s what happens when a woman cannot raise her own children, and instead they are sent to some insufferable fool to foster with.”</p><p>Margaery did not reply to that. She loved her father, she truly did, but she could not help but concur with her grandmother’s thoughts, even though she could never, of course, say so aloud. Her father was kind enough, but unfortunately he was also ambitious, which, paired with not enough brains, was, as Grandmother had always said, simply a disaster waiting to happen.</p><p>It seemed the disaster had struck now, and Margaery was to be its victim.</p><p>Like her Grandmother always said, too, it was usually the women who ended up with the short end of the stick.</p><p>“I’ve been trying to disrupt this idiotic plot for months,” Grandmother continued, “and it worked well enough while Loras had still been only writing, forced as he was to be careful what he put into his letters – I thank the gods your brother has some brains at least – but now that he’s here, your father’s favourite baby, and can whisper directly into his ear...who’d have thought Loras, of all the family, would become the one to be worried about?” She shook her head. “It is done, and all of my attempts to undo it have been to nothing. I fear there’s little I can do except murdering your father, and in spite of all this, I’m still not quite ready to go that far.”</p><p>Margaery laughed, just in case there was someone listening in spite of all the precautions they have taken, in spite of being alone in the middle of an ornamental meadow and speaking quietly as her ladies gathered flowers nearby. She knew perfectly well her grandmother was serious, and understood why, but it wouldn’t do to let anyone know.</p><p>Margaery, loath as she was to admit it, feared King’s Landing. She had been warned about it ever since she was little, again by her grandmother, who was really the source of most practical advice in her life. “You might feel charmed by the notion of being a queen one day,” she had said for the first time when Margaery was seven and her grandmother was brushing her hair, having sent the maids away. “Don’t. All the most ambitious, grasping, unscrupulous people of the realm live in the capital, each and every one of them willing to lie, murder and cheat to get what their want. And for every single woman there, what they want would be your place. Is being a queen worth dying for?”</p><p>Margaery had agreed that it wasn’t. And now she was to turn into one of these people, grasping at the queen’s place, at her father’s behest?</p><p>“What is your advice, Grandmother?” She asked.</p><p>Lady Olenna thought about that for a moment. “Take as many ladies as you feasibly can with you,” she said then. “We will have to talk in detail about which would be best. It will not be many, sadly, as the visit is entirely unofficial, but some of your cousins at least can accompany you, and of course that ugly septa of yours.” Maragery suppressed a sigh. She knew her grandmother was frustrated with failing to convince Father away from this plot, but she still wish she did not insist on her particular brand of frankness even in private. Margaery liked Septa Nestorica, and though the poor woman’s face, pox-marked as it was, could hardly be called comely, there was no need to bring it up all the time. But she knew that if she said anything, her grandmother would only scold her for getting distracted with unimportant things, and so she sat and listened to Lady Olenna’s thoughts.</p><p>“Unfortunately,” her grandmother was saying, “your most foolish brother will have to do for your protection, as taking any more beyodnt he usual household guard would look suspicious. But I will certainly go with you, and I will do my best for you in that place.” </p><p>She fell silent for a moment, thinking, and when it seemed no more would be forthcoming, Maragery asked: “How should I…approach the king?”</p><p>Her grandmother scoffed. “Do anything you can to discourage him, of course, as long as you are not explicit enough about it to anger him in any way. The last thing we need is a confrontation, or worse, your father coming to smooth things over or enforce his will in person.”  Grandmother pursed her lips. “Robert used to love Lyanna Stark, and apparently that fool Renly has the notion that you are somehow similar to her. Well, everyone said the girl was wild as a wolf, but I’m not sure if acting demure would help you much – they say that Robert never properly knew her before he declared himself in love with her, only saw her likeness. So let your hair bleach in the sun as much as possible to make it lighter, and dress as southern as possible – your hair, it must never be let down, or done in anything but the most ostentatious styles of the Reach.”</p><p>Margaery nodded eagerly, already thinking about her wardrobe and whether she had time to have any more dresses made that would make her hair look lighter and would make her look as southern as a maiden could look.</p><p>“And I suppose demure is your best bet,” he grandmother continued after a moment. “The king might have heard stories about Lyanna from Lord Stark, he might have some notion of the she-wolf’s wilderness at least. Oh, and there is one good thing, of course: your father, oaf that he is, would never tell you explicitly what he wants from you. You have a chance to act all innocent and confused, and discouraging to the king, without going explicitly against your father’s orders, as long as you remain - well, pleasant to him, since that, I expect, is what your father will order you to do, or some such nonsense.”</p><p>Margaery frowned a little. “Do you think he expects me to become the king’s mistress?”</p><p>Lady Olenna sighed. “When I asked him, though much less politely, he was all bluster and denial of course. I think he genuinely expects you not to fall into the king’s bed – after all, if you did, what reason would he have to marry you? - but that though he doesn’t like to admit it to himself, he expects you to suffer a few kisses and embraces.”</p><p>Margaery curled her lip. “And if the king refuses to stop at that, what does Father expect me to do?”</p><p>Grandmother gave her an approving look – she was always asking her to be mindful of such possibilities. “As I said,” she replied, “he prefers not to think about that much, my son. He prefers not to think about many things.” She frowned in disapproval and added: “There is a reason why we had little enough to do with the capital before now, you know.”</p><p>Margaery was surprised. She did know, of course, but… “I didn’t think you, of all people, would be upset at this breaking of loyalty to the Targaryens.”</p><p>“Well, I remain a Redwyne by birth,” Lady Olenna retorted, “but it doesn’t mean I don’t understand the debt House Tyrell owes the dragons. It looks...unseemly, that barely fifteen years after we were defeated on their side, your Father would try to marry you to the man who’d destroyed the dynasty. It makes us look grasping. The houses all already claim that – the Hightowers, and the Florents especially, you know perfectly well how they see us – and this will make it no better.”</p><p>There was little Margaery could say to that, as it was, of course, perfectly true. “I suppose Father believed it will help, making me a queen,” she said simply.</p><p>Lady Olenna gave her a look that made it obvious what she thought of such platitudes. “If the plan fails, we will be a laughingstock,” she replied sharply. “And if it succeeds – well, do you think Tywin Lannister will let it stand? Did my son forget we share a long borer with him?” She shook her head. “No, we have to go to the capital and salvage what we may of this shipwreck. As always, my dear, it will be left to us women.”</p><p>“Yes, Grandmother,” Margaery agreed, and then, reminded by this observation, asked: “Have you spoken to Mother yet?”</p><p>Lady Olenna shook her head. “And I do not believe this needs me to, not in person at any rate. You run to her now and tell her what I said. If she wants to meet over it, we will, but she knew perfectly well what was coming, and that it reached this far means she was unable to stop it, too. No need to make your father wary of me accompanying you to the capital by doing anything suspicious. Go and speak to her, and I will have a few cutting words for her at dinner.”</p><p>Margaery inclined her head, put down her embroidery and departed in a gaggle of ladies with their newly gathered flowers.</p><p>Sometimes, she rather desperately wished it was not like this, that there was no need of intrigue in her own home and in her own family, yet this day, of all days, showed perfectly well how necessary it was. It was her father’s and brother’s intrigue that put her in this situation without once consulting her, and what else could she do but respond to it by more intrigue?</p><p>Her grandmother always said it was a good preparation for the great game, but Margaery wondered if she ever grew tired of it, too. She had been doing this for so long, without pause. Margaery herself found it often amusing, but even at her sixteen years she sometimes wanted a break, a quiet moment with a book where she would be alone and not forced to perform for anyone. She could not imagine how exhausted she would be at seventy.</p><p>She reached her mother’s chambers in these musings, and released her ladies with a demurral of a private conversation. With mother, at least, she could have them openly. It was only with grandmother than she needed to hide behind pretenses, as, thankfully, it was only grandmother Father feared in this respect.</p><p>Margaery frequently thought that her mother’s role was much more wisely chosen, but then she could not have afforded to play it so easily had Lady Olenna not been willing to be the dagger to her caress. She supposed they each took on the role that was required of them. Margaery only wished that her own role, one day, would be something that suited her at least reasonably well.</p><p>If she was to be King Robert’s queen, she found that highly unlikely.</p><p>The door to her mother’s chambers opened, and Lady Alerie stepped towards her, pushing them closed again and taking Margery into her embrace, “Oh, my sweet,” she said very quietly, directly into her ear. “I am sorry.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Remember this scheme of Renly’s? It’s hinted at when Renly talks to Ned, and explicitly admitted to when Renly speaks to Stannis at the negotiation.</p><p>Fanfics always having Marg wanting to be queen irritate the hell out of me. I know it’s show canon, but I’ve seen it in plenty of stories that work off book canon too, and it frustrates me to no end. I know Olenna could be lying when she says it’s solely Mace’s ambition, but I find this reading of Margaery much more interesting: that she is simply playing – and playing brilliantly – with the hand she’d been dealt.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Jon I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon meets Lord Belmore. It goes about as well as could be expected.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon was entirely taken aback by the size of Gulltown.</p>
<p>He had thought White Harbour big, but this city was much bigger, and to think that King’s Landing was supposed to be a few times its size again...well, he had trouble imagining it, really. How could so many people live in one place? He was used to Winterfell, and there was something profoundly disturbing about something this packed.</p>
<p>Ghost was happy to leave the ship, at any rate. Not that Jon wasn’t: his stomach wasn’t as bad as Lady Myranda’s, who’d been sick almost the whole time, or even Sansa’s, but he’d hardly enjoyed the trip. He was no Ysilla, grown by the sea. He’d have just preferred to get off somewhere that wasn’t such a dense city.</p>
<p>And, of course, somewhere where the parting from Ryella was not hanging over his head like a sword.</p>
<p><i>Do not think about it,</i> he told himself firmly. <i>Not now, not when you need to be polite and courteous at least.</i></p>
<p>Not that he thought it was likely to matter. He’d been warned, by Myranda and Alyssa both, that here, he would be seen only as a bastard, and that nothign he did would ever elevate him beyond that. Myranda had been blunt and Alyssa apologetic and delicate, but they both told him the same thing: to grit his teeth and get through it.</p>
<p>Jon would gladly take people spitting on him if it did not mean he would never see Ryella again.</p>
<p>But, nevertheless, he grit his teeth as advised, and stepped from the ship behind his sister and the Vale ladies.</p>
<p>There was a welcoming party waiting for them, a twenty or so guards and one highborn man whose introduction Jon missed while trying not to think about Ryella’s perfect posture as she went to meet them. When he could focus again, he only heard: “…and accompany us to Gull Tower, where the welcome feast is already prepared, as well as a celebration of your name day, my lady,” and he bowed to Sansa, who gave him a weak smile in response, still clearly unwell from the ship.</p>
<p>At least she would be able to celebrate somewhere where her stomach was not constantly roiling, Jon thought and tried to be happy for her, but then he recalled his last name day and the spar he had with Ryella, and had to close his eyes for a moment to stop any tears from falling.</p>
<p>He was a man grown, and he would not cry. Certainly not in front of all those people who already looked down on him as it was.</p>
<p>Jon fell into step behind all the others, prepared to retreat into himself and try and gather his thoughts and his composure in preparation for the feast, but the highborn man at the head of their party was talking so loudly it kept jerking Jon back to reality as they mounted the horses prepared for them and were led through the city streets. </p>
<p>“Who is he?” Jon whispered to his aunt, trying to fight the irrational irritation he felt with him.</p>
<p>“Lord Grafton, the lord of Gulltown,” she replied. “Or of the Gull Tower where we’re headed, at least.”</p>
<p>Jon nodded. The words “approaching nearer and nearer to maturity with every passing day” drifted to him, and he saw that the lord was speaking to Sansa now. He supposed he was commenting on her name day, but still, the words only heightened Jon’s irritation, and he wished he could be at his sister’s side, not useless in the back.</p>
<p>Or, of course, at Ryella’s side.</p>
<p>The journey to Gull Tower was an interminable torture, and their arrival, unsurprisingly, did not improve the situation much.</p>
<p>Lord Belmore, Lady Waynwood and both lords Royce waited for them in the great hall, to welcome their daughters back. Lady Myranda gave her father a cheerful embrace he seemed to tolerate more then return, while Lady Alyssa’s with her mother was less overly enthusiastic, but clearly honest from both sides, an expression of how both have missed each other. Jon felt a slight pang, as he always did, at seeing someone interact well with their mother, but truly, he had nothing to complain of in this. He had Aunt Barbrey, and how could he ask for more?</p>
<p>Ryella, meanwhile, shot Jon a furtive look before she hesitantly stepped towards her father. Jon knew she worried he had received word from someone, somehow, but it didn’t seem so at least – he pressed her hands, and her shoulder, with a small smile, and Jon saw her return a wobbly one of her own. He felt immeasurably guilty, in that moment, for causing the tension between her and her father, whom he knew she loved dearly.</p>
<p>Ysilla, on the other hand, marched over to her father and greeted him with an almost regal nod, which he returned. The lords  - and Lady Waynwood – then turned to the rest of the company, and Lord Royce’s frosty behaviour to all of them immediately indicated that his daughter had complained copiously about her treatment in Winterfell, at least, even if she had written nothing about Jon and Ryella.</p>
<p>The rest were polite and gracious enough, though, particularly towards Sansa, and the usual words about their journey were exchanged before they were shown to their rooms. Jon’s was small, and he rather suspected it was usually reserved for squires or servants, but it had a bed, and that was all he cared about. It was not as if even the most richly appointed chamber would have cheered him at this moment.</p>
<p>He mechanically changed into his attire for the feast, then stood there, absently petting Ghost and looking out of the small window over the harbour, and thought about whether he would ever get a chance to talk to Ryella privately again.</p>
<p>They’d said their goodbye the previous evening, with Aunt Barbrey in the same cabin to keep watch on them, though she’d been turned towards the wall on the other side of it, giving them as much privacy as possible without exposing them to any risk. The cabin on the ship had been small and dim, and the ship had been swaying, and they stood holding each other’s hands and whispering to each other.</p>
<p>Jon had promised himself he would not talk about love when he knew nothing good could ever come of it, but in the end he’d caved and whispered the words over and over again, and his only response had been Ryella’s sad, sad eyes.</p>
<p>He cursed the day he’d first decided to speak to her. Wouldn’t it have been better, he wondered, if they’d never known each other at all?</p>
<p>Yet that was hard to wish for, too, because he couldn’t help feeling that his life would have been much sadder without Ryella in it, even if he also wouldn’t be feeling this completely wretched now.</p>
<p>He came back to the present when Aunt Barbrey entered his room after a perfunctory knock. She closed the door behind herself and embraced him without words, and he let himself find comfort with her, and try to forget, for a moment at least, that he would soon have to face Ryella over the distance of the great hall.</p>
<p>“It is time,” Aunt Barbrey told him when she let him go, and he gave a numb nod and headed to the feast alone. She, he knew, would go in with the guests of honour.</p>
<p>He found his way back to the great hall with some effort, but when he entered the room, he was lost. Until now, he had always sat at the head table, wherever they went with the Starks. In the North, no one would think to seat him anywhere else. But it was different here - he had been warned about that, too, by Alyssa and Myranda - and he had no idea what his place was.</p>
<p>He stood in the doorway until a servant found him and directed him to his place. He supposed he should be thankful - it was just below the head table - but he could only think about how watching Ryella from so near without being able to talk to her, perhaps ever again, would be even worse.</p>
<p>He had left Ghost locked in his room, but now he dearly wished he had him under the table for comfort and company. There were other people sitting at the table with him, but they were all clearly highborn, though from lesser houses, and were looking at him like he was something foul that got caught on their shoe.</p>
<p>At least now, Jon no longer had to wonder where Ysilla leaned her attitude.</p>
<p>The guests of honour finally entered, and upon seeing Ryella’s downcast eyes and desolate look, and knowing it was his fault, Jon took a very large gulp of his wine.</p>
<p>No one at his table spoke to him, but his supply of wine was unlimited and his view of Ryella was unobstructed, and these things together meant he drank perhaps a little more than he should have. It also meant he felt even more unready than he otherwise would have when a servant came to tell him that Lord Belmore wished to speak to him, and to lead him to one of the rooms off the main hall.</p>
<p>Lord Belmore was standing there, big and grim, with Ryella by his side, and Jon’s eyes flew to her before he quickly looked away, well aware that he might only do them harm by looking too long.</p>
<p>“Snow,” Lord Belmore said when Jon shut the door behind him, and the word sounded like a curse from him. “I have heard things from Lord Royce, about you and my daughter. What do you have to say for yourself?”</p>
<p>Jon took a fortifying breath, and looked the lord in the eyes. “I would never dishonour your daughter, my lord,” he said, willing his voice not to shake.</p>
<p>“That’s what she tells me as well,” Lord Belmore grunted. “Are you calling Lord Royce a liar, then?”</p>
<p>“No, my lord,” Jon said immediately, almost tripping over his tongue in his drunkenness and haste. He hesitated for a moment, trying to think about his words through the haze in his mind, before he added: “I do not known exactly what he was told by his daughter.”</p>
<p>Lord Belmore scoffed. “So it is her whom you call a liar.”</p>
<p>Jon hesitated. He was vaguely aware he should be careful, but was uncertain how to achieve that. “Lady Ysilla might...believe more happened between us than actually happened,” he said at length.</p>
<p>Lord Belmore pounded on it like Ghost on a piece of meat. “So something did happen?”</p>
<p>Jon sent Ryella another fleeting look, even as he cursed himself for not talking with her about what should be said to her father. It had seemed too much like plotting, and he knew she despised any kind of dishonesty, and so he’d avoided the topic of a possible confrontation entirely and prayed it would not come to pass. Clearly the gods have not heard his prayers. It was only fair, he supposed - he was the cause of this, and he should pay the consequences.</p>
<p>Ryella and her father both valued forthrightness, Jon knew. So he would be fortright.</p>
<p>“I have fallen in love with your daughter,” he said, looking Lord Belmore in the eye, and immediately saw the man go red with anger.</p>
<p>“You dare,” he spat.</p>
<p>“My lord, I- I have no pretentions of being worthy of it,” Jon said quickly, an this time he did actually stumble over his words. “I do not tell you to beg any kind of favour. But you ask what happened between us, and this is my response.”</p>
<p>“Have you touched her?” The lord asked in fury.</p>
<p>“I have held her hands,” Jon replied, and after a slight hesitation, deciding to commit to his honesty and the wine fuelling his courage, “and I have kissed her.”</p>
<p>Lord Belmore screamed and swung his fist at him, and Ryella immediately jumped in front of him, hanging on his arm even as Jon clumsily avoided the blow. “Father!” She exclaimed. “Please, I swear, it was me, I- I started it all. Do not punish him. Please.”</p>
<p>Lord Belmore gave her a furious look. “That bastard seduced you so far that you would defend him-”</p>
<p>And now Ryella was getting angry too, Jon could hear it in her voice. “That bastard,” she said, the one word spat at Lord Belmore, “has more honour than any man I have ever met except you, Father, which should be proven, if nothing else, by the fact that we were alone many times, and yet he has never tried to do more than kiss me, even thought I might not have been all that unwilling towards the end.”</p>
<p>Unsurprisingly, this did not calm Lord Belmore in any way. He gave another inarticulate shout.</p>
<p>“I would never have,” Jon insisted, even as he felt blood rushing in his ears and could see a vein pulsing in Lord Belmore’s temple to the same rhythm. “Never.”</p>
<p>“Father, please,” Ryella kept repeating, clinging to him, though the sharp tone remained even in her pleading. “Please. You always insisted to me how important honesty and justice was, please do not- do not allow your anger to cloud your thoughts, please, I beg you.”</p>
<p>There was a long, tense moment of everyone breathing hard and not moving and inch, then Lord Belmore finally looked at his daughter. “Do you love him?” He asked her, still clearly furious.</p>
<p>“Yes,” she replied immediately, making Jon’s heart thud in his chest, “but I, too, have no pretentions of our love having a future. We will part now, and likely never see each other again. I will marry who you tell me to marry, and I will be a good daughter and a good wife, I promise you that, Father. Just please…please do not be unjust towards Jon.”</p>
<p>There was another long silence, then Lord Belmore took a deep breath and looked his daughter in the eyes. “Very well,” he said. “I give you my word that I will treat him justly, and that I will trust what you said about him, and about the two of you. No go to your room, and do not leave until I come to talk to you.”</p>
<p>Ryella hesitated, giving Jon a fleeting look, but then she said “yes, Father” and went, not turning around as she shut the door behind her, disappearing from Jon’s sight.</p>
<p>“Now you,” Lord Belmore said, turning to him. “I will not do more to you only because I do not wish to break my daughter’s heart, but remember, if you ever come near her again, I will kill you.”</p>
<p>Then Lord Belmore punched Jon directly in the face, hard enough he fell to the ground, and left the room.</p>
<p>Jon lay there, feeling blood drip from his nose onto his best doublet, and wished he’d been knocked unconscious instead.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Barbrey I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Barbrey, Sansa and Jon come to King's Landing.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sea journey from Gulltown to King’s Landing was long and exhausting. It was, in days and in distance both, shorter than travelling from White Harbour to Gulltown, but seemed to last for at least twice as much time.</p>
<p>It was, chiefly, because every single thing about their stop in Gulltown had been an unmitigated disaster and Barbrey could not stop thinking about that, and about what it portended for their time in the capital.</p>
<p>The only thing that had gone right in the Vale was the conversation with Lady Waynwood about whether Alyssa would be allowed to accompany Sansa to King’s landing, and that, it turn, had gone so suspiciously well - especially after it became clear that Ysilla shared much with her father and he, in turn, shared much with the other lords and ladies - it made Barbrey perhaps even more nervous than the disastrous aspect of the rest.</p>
<p>She tried to settle her mind about that, at least. It truly might have been only because of Sansa’s cleverness and perfect courtesy. It was Sansa, after all, who’d hesitantly come to Barbrey only a few days before they arrived to Gulltown to tell her that from some little hints she gathered from Alyssa, she felt that the financial situation of the Waynwoods was not, perhaps, as good as could be assumed for such an influential house, and that the chance to send her daughter to the capital for free might be something Lady Waynwood would wish to grasp with both hands, regardless of any other concerns.</p>
<p>It had worked like a charm. Sansa made a perfect impression with every charm at her disposal, of course, but it was after Barbrey had emphasised that Lady Alyssa would be their guest in King’s Landing, and even afterwards in Winterfell once more after they returned, if Lady Waynwood wished it, that the offer had been accepted with alacrity masked yb enough courtesy that had Barbrey not been looking for it, she likely would not have spotted it.</p>
<p>Thankfully, that had been before Lord Belmore punched Jon in the face, and Lady Waynwood apparently felt too embarrassed by that whole situation to take her agreement back.</p>
<p>All in all, Barbrey was grateful <i>that</i> problem ended only with a punch and a warning, but it had still been awkward getting Jon on a ship in the morning without everyone talking about his still occasionally bleeding nose and the bright red bruise blossoming on his face.</p>
<p>As it was, she gave Jon a few days to both get over the some of his heartbreak and for the worst of the bruising to fade a little, but they didn’t have much time, and so on the fifth day of their journey she called both children to her to go over the situation they would be stepping into.</p>
<p>“We know,” she said, giving them an intent look, “what Lord Varys wished your father to think: that the Lannisters were behind the death of Jon Arryn, and that they wanted to kill the king as well. The first part, also, Lady Catelyn claims her sister to believe. We do not know, however, if any of that is the truth. If it is, however, it likely means the Lannisters – or rather the queen, with the possible help of her twin – had killed your father as well. But there are other possibilities.”</p>
<p>Sansa seemed to think about that. “Do you think that my mother lied, or that Lord Varys lied? Or both?”</p>
<p>“All of these are possible,” Barbrey replied, trying not to be too frustrated with how little they knew. “Your mother might have invented the message to Maester Luwin simply because she wished to get out of the North. I never understood why she hadn’t returned to Riverrun, but there might be some reasons, and this would have been a chance she wouldn’t have wanted to miss. If that was the truth, I don’t think I could even entirely blame her.”</p>
<p>Sansa frowned. “The journey led to father’s death!”</p>
<p>Barbrey gave a small sigh. In truth, there was little enough where she wished to defend the Tully woman, but wishing to return south was one thing where she never would. Especially now that she was out of the North herself, and was already feeling wrong-footed after only a few days. She could not imagine years living away from anything that was good and familiar to her. As frivolous as she found the south, it was the Tully woman’s home, and in fact, one of the greatest sources of frustration to her over the years was that the Tully woman did <i>not</i> wish to return, did not take Ned’s offer to leave Winterfell. It would have made everyone’s life so much easier - including Catelyn Tully’s.</p>
<p>But when she had been considering all of the matters relating to the departure to King’s Landing, she had thought about the letter from Lysa Arryn, about how how little correspondence there generally seemed to be between the sisters. It was the first time she had considered that there might be serious reasons for Catelyn Tully not going to her family, beyond stubborn pride and desire to keep some control in the North.</p>
<p>But she did not think she could explain all this to Sansa when they needed to discuss politics aboard a ship, so she simply said: “Yes, my sweet, but if I asked your father to go riding with me and he broke his neck on the ride, would you blame me for it?”</p>
<p>“No,” Sansa admitted reluctantly.</p>
<p>“Then we cannot blame your mother for wanting to leave the North. It was what many in Winterfell wished for as well, after all.” In fact, Ned himself might have found it almost a price worth paying if there had been a way to leave her south and return home. Of course, there was also the much more likely possibility that the woman simply didn’t want to return to Riverrun out of shame and so she dragged Ned south with her instead, in which case she would deserve no sympathy at all. But there were other, worse options to consider.</p>
<p>“We also know,” she said aloud, “that your mother is good friends with the Master of the Coin. There is a chance – I do not know how big – that she cooperated with him on this, and if she did, I do not know how far the cooperation went. I cannot imagine them killing Jon Arryn just for a chance to get your father south, but if his death was natural and they took advantage of it, Lord Baelish perhaps whispering into the king’s ear about naming your father Hand...” It would have been easy enough to exchange letters though the grey rat in Winterfell, who’d always had more sympathy for the Tully woman than anyone else.</p>
<p>Sansa gave her a horrified look. “Do you believe Mother had Father killed?” She asked, her eyes wide with shock.</p>
<p>Barbrey shook her head immediately. “I do not believe so,” she said. She had considered the option carefully, as it was one of the first that had occurred to her, but…  “I cannot entirely exclude the possibility, I have to admit, but even if they worked to draw Ned south, it was likely without any violent plans. If your mother wished to see your father dead, she could have killed him a long time ago, and then simply leave south on her own.” It would have been a little more dangerous to do it in the North, she knew that perfectly well, but there were still plenty enough ways for a wife to arrange for a husband to die without arousing any suspicions, ways that would have been much easier than waiting for eight years then then travelling half of Westeros for it.</p>
<p>“So if not the Lannisters, and not Lady Catelyn, then who?” Jon asked impatiently.</p>
<p>Almost anyone in the city, or at least in that castle, Barbrey thought bitterly. Aloud, she said: “Well, he might have been killed by Lord Varys, of course, as part of some plot of his we don’t know about. And it might still have been someone entirely different, though in that case I would have to wonder about Lord Varys’ lies.”</p>
<p>“Could he have just been…wrong?” Sansa asked a little dubiously.</p>
<p>“He could have,” Barbrey admitted. “His reputation is fearsome, but people are prone to telling tall tales. Or he could have simply been paid off. If not him, the Lannisters, or you mother with the Master of Coin, then my last suspicion would be the Grandmaester.”</p>
<p>That seemed to surprise the children. “What would be his reason?” Jon wondered.</p>
<p>“I do not know,” Barbrey admitted, “but then I do not know what would be Lord Varys’ either, and remember that Lord Arryn, if he was murdered, was poisoned. It is likely the maester was complicit at the very least.”</p>
<p>They all thought about it for a moment, considering the possibilities and if some other possible culprit came to mind. When no one said anything for a good long while, Barbrey sighed and reminded them: “These are all only preliminary speculations. It might turn out to be something completely different still. The Lannisters are most likely, though, and after them all of those I have named, so keep an especially careful eye on them. And, for gods’ sake, keep what I told you here absolutely secret - even from Alyssa,” she added to Sansa, with emphasis. She was glad the girl had been able to keep her friend by her side, but no outsiders could be trusted at this point, and who knew the alliances House Waynwood kept. These speculations must not go beyond the three of them.</p>
<p>The remaining days of the journey, Barbrey spent entirely by trying to make plans and contingency plans, thinking about how to try and verify the guilt of each person she had suggested as the possible culprit. She made careful notes and then burned them, she tried speaking tot he sailors of their experience of the capital, limited as it might be, she went over the histories of the relevant noble families with Sansa. She hardly slept, praying into the small hours of the morning with her weirwood circle clasped in her hands, trying to prepare in any way she knew how.</p>
<p>Still, once they arrived and she looked upon the sheer, breath-taking size of King‘s Landing, Barbrey knew she was not ready for it.</p>
<p>She had known it before, of course, in theory, but it was something quite different to see it with her own eyes and truly feel the immensity of it, and the impossibility of the task before her.</p>
<p>How was she, in this huge nest of vipers, to find the person responsible for Ned’s death?</p>
<p>She had tried to find someone who’d be able to help her grasp some essentials of how the court worked and who was who, at least, but there was no one in the North who could really help her – except Maester Luwin, and she trusted him not at all.</p>
<p>She’d memorised what she could about the people Ned had written about, at least, those she knew were present at court, but she knew there was little useful knowledge in what she could learn from so far away. She felt the futility of her task before her, and fought the impulse to give up.</p>
<p>But giving up was not in her nature, and she had to be strong for the children. So she smiled a grim, determined smile at the approaching city, stepped off the ship once it safely docked, and graciously thanked the escort king had sent for them. </p>
<p>She kept her smile, with effort, through the crowded, smelly streets, through the steep road up Aegon’s Hill, and finally through the gates of the Red Keep, the one Brandon had died in, and all the way to the throne room, that very place he drew his last, struggling breath. Do not think about it, she told herself. Do not.</p>
<p>Still, it was hard to command her mind to such a degree when he might have been standing in this very spot…she grit her teeth, but it helped only a little. When King Robert gave them their formal welcome, she only heard him through a sort of daze and gave her returning responses mindlessly. She only came back to herself a little when he descended from the throne to embrace Sansa and Jon both. Barbrey noted they both did well enough in not stiffening. “I’m sorry about your father,” he said gruffly. “Gods know I loved him like a brother, and this damn place killed him, just like it’s slowly killing me. But I will find out who was behind it, I promise you, if it is the last thing I ever do.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, Your Grace,” Sansa said, her manners perfect and polite, as she curtsied and smiled. “We are very grateful.”</p>
<p>“You will stay a moon at least, will you not?” The king continued immediately, turning to her. “That way you can get to know my son better – or better yet, stay until his name day! He will be grateful, I know, for the presence of his lady, and I will be glad to have you here, to have someone to remember Ned with.” He heaved a sigh. “You look just like him,” he said then, to Jon. “The same grim face, from when we fostered together. He was your age in the Vale, you know. I have to tell you stories.” The king smiled at him, with the queen scowling in the background, then waved them off to go get settled and rest.</p>
<p>If only Barbrey could believe there would be any rest to be had in this accursed place. And there was the king’s troubling request, too, that she only began to fully process as they were leaving the throne room: two moons was longer than they had hoped to stay, and it made it even clearer he still wished to have Sansa marry his son. The request could hardly be refused, however, and they would simply have to cope.</p>
<p>She followed the servant that led them to the Tower of the Hand, looking around, still desperately trying to keep her thoughts of Brandon at bay. It was not relevant to her current situation if he’d ridden through these archways, where he’d dismounted, or if the guards grabbed him and ragged him into the throne room of if he walked in on his own power. It did not matter any more. It had been years, and there were different Starks here whose safety she should be concerned with, ones who, at least, would never take such foolish risks. She had taken care to ensure that much in their education. She could take pride in that, at least.</p>
<p>But her distraction now was dangerous. Possibly it had already cost them something that she had been unable to think of a reply to the king’ invitation that would have given them more leeway. What she had done for the children in the past would be useless if she let them all be killed in this gods forsaken place. And so, forcefully, she dragged her mind to more current concerns. What were the most acute dangers here now? She looked around, making herself focus on the present instead of her ghosts, and for the first time really noticed the innumerable unknown people everywhere, courtiers and servants and guards. Winterfell was much less populated, and of course, she knew everyone there by name. But even if she hadn’t, it would have been easy to have a private conversation there, in one of the very many empty spaces aroud the castle. Here, these seemed to be nothing empty at all, and she thought of how difficult it would be to do anything without being immediately found out. Especially as the household they would be staying in would be, perhaps, the least trustworthy of all, having been under the Tully woman’s control for months. For all that she likely had nothing to do with Ned’s death, she would still no doubt have the servants listen, and who knew what friendships she had made in the capital, whom she would spread the word to, if it gave her a chance to act against Jon or Barbrey.</p>
<p>Barbrey might not blame her for wishing to go south, but she did not forget what the woman was for a moment.</p>
<p>She gritted her teeth against the discomfort of the upcoming meeting, herded the children to the Tower, and there, finally, they were met with Lady Stark, her face as if it was carved from stone. </p>
<p>The children, when Barbrey glanced at them, wore just the same face.</p>
<p>“Lady mother,” Sansa said, dropping the slightest possible curtsy.</p>
<p>“Lady Stark,” Jon echoed, with a bare dip of his head.</p>
<p>Lady Stark’s lips narrowed. “Sansa,” she said, ignoring Jon completely, as was her wont. “Welcome to King’s Landing. And Lady Dustin, of course.”</p>
<p>Barbrey mimicked Sansa’s minimal curtsy. </p>
<p>The Tully woman turned on her heel. “Come in,” she said, entering the tower.</p>
<p>Barbrey had the disquieting feeling she should be requesting some bread and salt, to make certain they would be safe inside.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This volume, too, has three "phases" of sorts, and with this chapter the first one is over. Everyone who is supposed to be is in King's Landing, all the leftover stuff from last book is dealt with. and we're ready to really get into this "nest of vipers" thing. Thank you for all the support so far!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Tyrion II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tyrion talks to Barbrey, and gets some allies.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Starks – though really, only was of them bore that name – have been welcomed and feasted by Robert, have had a little time to settle in, and now Tyrion felt it was his turn to speak with Lady Dustin. He’d greeted her already, of course, and exchanged some vapid pleasantries about her journey and such, but now he wished for an actual conversation.</p>
<p>To that end, on the third day after their arrival, he loitered by a window in Maegor’s Holdfast until he saw her headed towards the royal stables, and then set out after her, finding her there admiring some of the exquisite horses.</p>
<p>“My lady,” he greeted her with a dip of his head.</p>
<p>“Lord Tyrion,” she replied with a sharp smile, turning from the horse she was focused on. “I am glad to see you. How are you?”</p>
<p>“Better than you, I’d wager,” he muttered. “Would you go for a ride with me, my lady?” He then asked more loudly. “I confess I do not ride particularly fast, but still, I am fond of the exercise.” That was a bold face lie, of course, but what was he supposed to say? </p>
<p>She was clearly surprised, but agreed all the same. He did not think she had many better things to do. He had observed her, even on the previous day, walking around the Red Keep as if she was not certain where she was supposed to go. So after arranging for a guard and sending a message to the children that she would be away for a time, they rode out of town and towards the Blackwater, on one of his usual routes.</p>
<p>Confirming his supposition that she was an intelligent woman, she waited until they were out of town and the guards gave them some space before she said: “What is it that you mean to tell me, my lord, that would be important enough to take me all the way out here? Not that I am not grateful for being outside of that place,” she added.</p>
<p>“I wanted to offer my help with your investigation,” Tyrion replied simply, “as I assume that is the main reason why you rode to the capital in person?”</p>
<p>“Indeed,” she confirmed after a moment of surprised silence. “I cannot let it lie.”</p>
<p>“I understand perfectly,” he responded, “and I wish to offer my services. I like Lord Stark’s children, and for their sake if nothing else his fate upset me. I arrived shortly after he died, and have always wanted to find out who was behind it, for a variety of reasons. I have already taken the first steps. I know this city better than you, my lady, so I believe I can be useful to you.”</p>
<p>She frowned at him, and slowed her horse to be able to look at him properly. “That seems like too much commitment simply for the sake of sympathy for Ned’s children, my lord.”</p>
<p>She had a point, and so he decided for honesty. She was the kind of person who would likely actually appreciate it o a degree, unlike most of those who loudly claim to value ‘men being upfront with them’.  “I admit I’m also curious,” he said, “about the children’s abilities. I would like to stay on good terms with the family to be able to hear about their progress, and this seemed like a good way to disassociate myself from any suspicions you might have about people in King’s Landing.” He did not want to explicitly state that his sister was the most obvious suspect - after all, if there was the slightest chance the Starks have somehow not hit upon it, he had no wish to put the idea inside their heads. Given the look she gave him at that pronouncement, however, she was perfectly well aware.</p>
<p>“Or make me even more suspicious towards you,” she pointed out.</p>
<p>“Possible, of course,” he agreed, shrugging as well as he could while sitting atop a lightly trotting horse, “but I do not see how giving me information about the children’s development could do harm – if I was to harm them with it, it would be with the mere information that they are wargs, rather than with any details on their progress.”</p>
<p>“I am not worried about that,” she assured him, waving her hand. <i>She</i> could gesture freely, easily controlling her horse with just her legs. “I simply wonder whether you mean to lead me on a wild goose chase when it comes to Ned’s murder.”</p>
<p>He attempted to shrug again. If this was her approach, he did not have to fight overly hard to seem trustworthy to get the news he wanted, and so he only said: “There is little I can do to make you trust me, but I can simply describe my investigation. I will be up to you whether you believe me or not, or what conclusions you reached from it.”</p>
<p>She considered that, then reluctantly inclined her head. “Speak, then,” she said, “and I will listen.”</p>
<p>“I have found the place where Lord Eddard died,” Tyrion began without further ado, having decided how he meant to present his evidence long ago. “I have heard, from those who work there, that he came in merely following the footsteps of Lord Arryn and Lord Stannis.”</p>
<p>She frowned at that. “What were Arryn and Stannis doing in a brothel? From what Ned said about them, I didn’t think they were the types.”</p>
<p>“Not at all,” Tyrion agreed. “It caught my interest just as much as it caught yours. I am now in the process of investigation what they were doing in that brothel in the first place, since it seems without a doubt that it was what led Lord Eddard there, and possibly was also what caused his death.”</p>
<p>He was not being completely truthful, of course – for that, he would have to mention the bastard – but he would not say a word of that until he was completely certain how exactly it fit with his family. He would not get Jaime into any kind of trouble.</p>
<p>Lady Dustin thought about his words, then nodded in acceptance. “At least I know how they got him into a brothel,” she said. “I had wondered about that.”</p>
<p>He arched his eyebrows. “You thought it was a setup?”</p>
<p>“What else was I to think?” She returned, which was a fair response.</p>
<p>They rode in silence for a while, around a bend in the river to where a view opened towards the sea. “Will you tell me about the children now?” He wondered when she stayed silent for what felt like too long.</p>
<p>She turned towards him and gave him a smile with many teeth. “You have not given me much yet,” she said, “so I will give you an appropriately small morsel in return.” She made a dramatic pause, then announced: “Bran has managed to slip into his wolf’s skin while awake.”</p>
<p>And then she spurred her horse into a gallop, a speed at which he certainly could not follow. </p>
<p>Damn that woman. She knew how to tease.</p>
<p>He let her go, and soon her own guard separated from his and followed her, while Tyrion returned to the city at a leisurely pace, thinking about the next steps in his investigation.</p>
<p>The problem, of course, was that he did not have anyone loyal to him at all. All his guards were men borrowed from his sister through his brother, and if he tried hiring someone new, there was no telling if they weren’t already in the pocket of Littlefinger, or Varys, or someone entirely new and unexpected. Tyrion himself could hardly do any spy work, and he had no one to do it for him.</p>
<p>He had been musing on this problem for over a week now, and was no closer to a solution, which was frustrating in the extreme. He wished he had an easy method of relaxation at hand, like his brother: hitting things until he was too tired to think.</p>
<p>Well.</p>
<p>He could, of course, make use of his favoured method – the establishments in the Street of Silk. It was a bit early for a visit there, but he hoped Chataya would let him in anyway, if he tipped her enough.</p>
<p>Inspired by the idea, he directed his guards there, and entered the almost empty brothel. Chataya greeted him with a smile, and didn’t even ask him for any extra money as she sent him to - Alayaya’s room.</p>
<p>It made Tyrion very much wonder. Did Alayaya not tell her mother that he’d refused to fuck her last time, did she have some news for him, or was Chataya not as happy with her daughter working as a whore as she had pretended, and liked her to have a customer who did no more than kiss? Or - and that was a truly horrifying possibility - did she mean to have her daughter convince him that she was not too young for him after all?</p>
<p>Given this idea, it was no wonder he opened the door to Alayaya’s room with some trepidation. He was shaken out of any considerations like this, however, by finding her with a parchment. When he came closer, he could see that it had large block letters written on it, and Alayaya was clearly practising her reading skills in a low voice, though she put the parchment away and fell silent when she noticed him.</p>
<p>“I am sorry to disturb you,” he said, entirely honestly – he certainly thought that whatever interaction he might have with her took less priority than learning to read. There was very little he would give priority over learning to read, in fact. Perhaps, he mused to himself, saving one’s life - so that one could learn to read later. “I can go somewhere else,” he added aloud.</p>
<p>“Oh no, my lord, it is fine,” she assured him, giving him a smile that seemed more genuine than the ones from last time. And did not say anything else, nor did she make any attempt to kiss him or otherwise touch him.</p>
<p>Hm.</p>
<p>Tyrion came closer, and kissed her on the cheek, something he could only do - with effort - because she was seated on a relatively low chair. As he did so, he whispered: “Why did your mother send me up to you?”</p>
<p>Alayaya gave him another smile and led him to the bed, where they could speak quietly in more comfort. They embraced, as before, and she whispered into his ear: “I am not truly sixteen, my lord. I am nineteen - nearing twenty now - and merely look young. I have been working for years.”</p>
<p>Tyrion blinked, more than a little confused at this pronouncement. For one, what did that have to do with anything, and for another- “Why claim otherwise, then?”</p>
<p>“Because there are many men who prefer young women, and claiming my youth helps protect those sisters who are truly very young,” Alayaya replied cheerfully. </p>
<p>“But if you have been working for years-” Tyrion began to protest.</p>
<p>“When I first started, I could choose my own customers,” Alayaya explained, “and Mother only let me choose from boys who were my age or younger. It had been freely available to anyone only for the last year or so.”</p>
<p>“And you have been claiming to be sixteen all this time?” Tyrion wondered a little dubiously.</p>
<p>Alayaya pulled back a little to give him a look. “Most customers,” she said, “do not ask.”</p>
<p>Well, that was probably true enough. Still, he didn’t see… “And why did your mother send me here, then?”</p>
<p>“Well, for one, now that you know, you might actually wish to lie with me, though I understand if it is the appearance of youth that makes you uncomfortable as well,” she said matter-of-factly, an amusing contrast to the fact that she was once again whispering those words into his ear while embracing him. “And for another…my mother and me were both…impressed with your restraint. We decided that should you wish any help with your investigation, we were at your disposal.”</p>
<p>Tyrion caught his breath.</p>
<p>He was under no illusions that he’d impressed them so much they simply selflessly wished to help him. Likely, Chataya wished her own revenge on whoever had insulted her establishment so much and driven customers away. But he might have gained enough trust by his refusal to lie with Alayaya that this allowed them to offer the partnership.</p>
<p>It could also very easily be a trap, but at this point, Tyrion was out of options, and - he bitterly laughed at himself - trusting whores was, after all, what he did, was it not? Who else could he ever turn to, in his life, then whores? Should they prove to be his final downfall, so be it.</p>
<p>“I would be very interested,” he whispered, biting on Alayaya’s ear, “in hearing your and your mother’s offer.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I thought long and hard about how to approach Alayaya and Chataya. They are two of I think four explicitly Summer Islander named characters we meet (five if we count Sarella, who is a half-Summer Islander), and they are…a mother who sends her 16 yo daughter to do sex work because they worship with sex at home, because obviously a) there’s no difference between temple sex work in a culture that respects it and doing sex work in Westeros with its huge whorephobia and zero protections in place, and b) this is not the biggest stereotype in the universe, exoticizing and oversexualizing women of colour like whoa. So I decided to basically treat some of what Chataya tells Tyrion as simply advertising talk. I’m not ignoring the role of sex in Summer Islander religion, since such religions exist IRL and I don’t want to erase them from the universe of this fic, but…not the way GRRM presents it. Ugh.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Catelyn II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Catelyn has a conversation with her daughter. Or tries to, anyway.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ugh, I'm so sorry. Turns out writing King's Landing is complicated - not inventing the different plots as much as making them come to light, or partial light, in a way that feels natural. I had to take a break from posting and then got distracted by different fics. Hopefully I will untangle the knot and will come back to my usual posting flow for this. I did promise at least once a week, after all, and that, uh, hasn't happened. It's been basically two months, so I owe you like eight updates? Will try to deliver as soon as possible lol.</p><p>Also, this chapter is very hard for Cat, so just be ready.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Her daughter, Catelyn felt, was even more of a stranger to her than she had ever been before.</p><p>It had only been a little over half a year since Catelyn had last seen her, but the Dustin woman clearly worked fast.</p><p>Sansa now walked with her large direwolf everywhere, the beast never leaving her side, and when Catelyn had protested, she’d only earned a poisonous look from her daughter. There wasn’t much Catelyn could do about it, sadly, as even the king seemed to tolerate the wolf in his presence, for all he had grown much more careful about his personal safety than ever before. When Catelyn had wondered at it, he had given her a contemptuous look and said that it wasn’t the wolves who’d killed her husband.</p><p>Now that Sansa was here, Catelyn was in his company more often than ever before. In the five days since her daughter’s arrival, she had dined with the king twice, which was more than in the entire preceding month. That was its own trial. For one, she found him unpleasant both for himself and for his association with Lord Stark. For another, she knew she should probably mask the state of her relationship to Sansa, but she could not, especially with the bastard here as well, and she feared the king would take notice and be displeased. Fortunately, though, he was not the most observant of men.</p><p>The queen had taken to expressing pity for the way her husband’s bastard was paraded around, something insufferable enough in its own right. The king himself had many more bastards, she knew, but they were well hidden away, and so now the queen felt she could claim superiority. Not that she imagined Cersei Lannister ever needed much of an excuse to feel superior to anyone.</p><p>At least there was some hope of the tension that hung over all of their heads lessening soon. Petyr had told her, on their last walk together, that they had finally found some evidence of who’d killed Lord Stark. “These are only the first hints, you understand,” he had said, “but it does seem it was some of the Targaryen loyalists who were pardoned by His Grace when he won his kingship. It seems they heard about the marriage of Daenerys Targaryen, and wish to clear the way for Viserys’ return, by eliminating the pillars of the Rebellion one by one.”</p><p>Catelyn had frowned upon hearing that. “Is there any danger to my children?” She couldn’t help but ask. They were Starks, after all, dislike it as she might. If someone was truly after revenge…</p><p>“No, they are safe,” Petyr assured her immediately. “These killers, whoever they are, seem to be only after those who were personally involved, not after their families.”</p><p>Catelyn supposed that made sense - if they poisoned Jon Arryn, it would have been easy to poison Lysa and little Robert as well, they must have shared many meals. It was a relief to hear, not only for the children but for herself as well. She was, after all, the daughter of Hoster Tully.</p><p>She supposed her father was in danger, though, and she decided to write to Edmure to warn him as soon as she could. That left only Lord Tywin and the king, and though Catelyn by and large did not wish death on anyone, with those two men, she found it difficult to be concerned, except for how it would affect the kingdom.</p><p>The most pragmatic part of her could not help but hope Sansa became betrothed to Joffrey before the king died, as she knew perfectly well it was only his wish that pushed the betrothal and that without him, Cersei Lannister would go in a very different direction. Likely as not, marry him to some Lannister cousin, she could not help but think uncharitably. It would not be an astute political choice, of course, as it would bring little new alliance, but the queen seemed to surround herself with no one but Lannisters and to have time for no one else at all, so it did not seem all that unlikely to Catelyn.</p><p>Of course, if there was a true Targaryen restoration, it would not be good for Sansa to be married to a Baratheon, but Catelyn found the idea hard to credit. Some loyalist lords getting their hopes up and committing murders for it was one thing, but a real invasion of the Seven Kingdoms with an army from Essos? That seemed like something from old stories. She knew from Petyr about Daenerys Targaryen’s marriage to the Dothraki lord, but she also knew from him that the Dothraki were undisciplined and never crossed water. The barbarian army would fall apart before they came as far as Pentos.</p><p>No. Sansa marrying Prince Joffrey was still the best hope for her future, once he matured a little and left behind his…childish behaviour, and Catelyn would do her best to made certain the Dustin woman did non ruin her daughter’s future.</p><p>She would also try to improve her own relationship with Sansa, but in truth, that was secondary. Catelyn could live with her own aching heart, as long as she knew her daughter’s good life was assured.</p><p>She would respect Petyr’s advice, not try to speak to Sansa of Lord Stark’s death, but she meant to take every opportunity offered to speak to her daughter of anything else.</p><p>It had become obvious as soon as Sansa’d come to King’s Landing that she would need new dresses. She had brought everything that was not woollen with her from Winterfell, Catelyn could see, but the heavy northern linen was still not well suited to the heat of King’s Landing summer. To that end, Catelyn had offered her daughter to ask for the seamstress she herself used, to get her measurements for new gowns. Her daughter had agreed, though curtly and coldly, and now Catelyn was looking forward to some time nearly alone with her daughter.</p><p>Sansa came with the wolf – of course she came with the wolf – but at least there was no Jon Snow or the Dustin woman in sight.</p><p>“I am here, Mother,” she said by way of a greeting. “May we begin?”</p><p>Catelyn suppressed a sigh, and gestured to the seamstress, who curtsied, took out her measuring tape, and said: “If my lady pleases,” and Sansa smiled at her in a way she had not smiled at Catelyn since she came to King’s Landing - perhaps not in years - and Catelyn, abruptly, felt like crying.</p><p>But she would not give Lady Dustin the satisfaction, for all that the woman was not present to see it. No doubt Sansa would gladly tell her stories.</p><p>“How has your day been, Sansa?” She asked as her daughter stood stock still and her measures were taken.</p><p>“Oh, it was very lovely,” Sansa said in a polite tone that rung hollow. “I spent most of it with Prince Joffrey.”</p><p>Catelyn smiled. Finally, some genuinely good news. “I am very glad to hear it,” she replied.</p><p>“I am sure you are,” and now Sansa’s voice sounded strained.</p><p>“I hope he has been pleasant to you,” Catelyn ventured, a little taken aback at the tone - she was used to it when her daughter was speaking to her, but when talking of her near-betrothed?</p><p>“Oh, he is always very pleasant to me,” Sansa continued with the same tone, “except that he does not like Lady in his presence.”</p><p>It took Catelyn a moment to remember that was the name Sansa had given her direwolf. She sighed. “Of course he does not,” she said. “Sansa, I have told you before-”</p><p>“Yes, Mother, you made your feelings perfectly clear. There is no need to go over them again,” Sansa cut her off, extremely rudely, and there was an awkward silence until the measuring was finished and Catelyn took her daughter over to the fabric samples the seamstress, who now went to sit unobtrusively in the corner, had brought.</p><p>Catelyn herself had had the best experience with silk in the heat, and so that was what she recommended immediately, only to see Sansa’s lip curl. “I am not here to stay, Mother,” she said. “I will not become southern, however much you wish me to.”</p><p>“If you marry the prince-” Catelyn began.</p><p>“Yes, you would like that, would you not?” Sansa spat at her. “Now that you can no longer have the influence of being the Hand’s wife, it would be very convenient to you to be the future queen’s mother!”</p><p>Catelyn pursed her lips. She was hurt, yes - how could Sansa think that of her, her own mother? Was Petyr right? - but once again, she refused to show it. “Whatever you believe, Sansa,” she said, “I am still your mother, and you will treat me with the respect due to me.”</p><p>“Why?” Sansa asked her blandly. “You want me to marry the prince, after all.”</p><p>“If you think that as a princess of the realm, you would not owe any respect to your mother-”</p><p>Sansa scoffed. “That’s not what I am talking about. But if you are willing to marry me to any man at all, just as long as it gives you more of a position at court, then I do not feel any respect is owed at all.”</p><p>This was truly beyond the pale, and Catelyn’s self-control snapped. “How dare you, Sansa! I want only what is best for you, always have-”</p><p>Now Sansa gave an ugly, bitter laugh that had no place on a twelve year old girl. “Of course, and Prince Joffrey is that best, I suppose?”</p><p>He was, that was the whole point- “You would be the queen!” Catelyn pointed out the obvious, in case her daughter had somehow forgotten.</p><p>“Such a shame Robert did not pick you,” Sansa hissed, “then you would not have had to try and put me on the throne, and I would not have had to contend with you as a mother.”</p><p>Catelyn’s hand twitched, and she heard the direwolf growl. In the challenging look in Sansa’s eyes, she could read: ‘Just try it, try to slap me, and see how well it goes for you.’</p><p>Catelyn gritted her teeth, took a deep breath, and asked in the most even tone she could manage: “What do you have against Prince Joffrey?”</p><p>“Nothing at all,” Sansa replied bitingly, in a tone that made it obvious it was a lie, “it is only that you never even considered my happiness before wishing for the match.”</p><p>“As a queen, you would make your own happiness,” Catelyn pointed out. After all, that was the only guarantee of happiness there was - enough power to ensure no one could take it away from you. Catelyn had found that out the hard way, two times over.</p><p>Now the look her daughter was giving her was downright mocking. “As you did as Lady Stark?”</p><p>Catelyn gritted her teeth even harder. “That was different.”</p><p>“Was it?”</p><p>“This is not the North.”</p><p>Sansa’s gaze grew abruptly even more furious, something Catelyn had not thought possible. “Of course, how silly of me. I forgot that all southern men are always the epitome of charm and courtesy, and nothing but kind to their wives. It is enough to look at-” But Sansa swallowed the rest of her sentence, and after a beat of silence and a deep breath, only said in a voice as cold as ice: “I will not wear the silk. The light linen will do just as well for me.”</p><p>Catelyn wanted to object, to argue that linen clothes, however richly dyed, were not appropriate for a girl nearly betrothed to a prince, but the wolf growled again and Catelyn chose to let it go. </p><p>“What about the cut?” She made herself say. “There are several that-”</p><p>“I want the northern cut,” Sansa said curtly.</p><p>“Sansa...”</p><p>But her daughter turned from her, to the seamstress doing her best to pretend she was not in the room. “Five dresses,” she said, “all in the same, plain northern cut – if you need, I will give you some of mine to pattern on. All from the light linen, white and grey. I will see to the embroidery myself.”</p><p>The seamstress, terrified, packed her things and left, and Sansa followed soon after.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Motherhood is hard, especially when the people concerned have such entirely different worldviews. Next up: Sansa's POV and her reflections of what happened here!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Sansa II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sansa seeks comfort.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sansa was pacing her room, so furious with herself she could cry.</p>
<p>She had been here for five days, and already she’d messed up.</p>
<p>How could she- her mother made her furious, yes, but how could she have been so careless! How could she have spoken so openly and with such distaste of the king and Joffrey? Was she an idiot? Did she want to get her whole family killed? She had offered to go south to help - would she end up ruining everything before they even began any investigations?</p>
<p>Sansa collapsed on her bed, and began to sob, which made her even angrier. It was then that Alyssa slipped inside the room, only to stand frozen just inside it when she saw Sansa.</p>
<p>“It went that badly?” She asked compassionately, slowly approaching the bed.</p>
<p>“No..well yes, but...I’m such a fool, Aly!”</p>
<p>Alyssa sat on the edge, and patted Sansa on the back a little uncertainly “What happened?” She asked after a moment.</p>
<p>“I spoke- incautiously.” What a mild way to phrase it, Sansa thought to herself mockingly. Of course, this was how a lady should speak, but it did not truly feel like it encompassed the enormous mistake she had made.</p>
<p>“Towards your mother?” Alyssa probed carefully.</p>
<p>Sansa almost snorted. “That too, but I’m not worried about that!”</p>
<p>“Ah.” Alyssa nodded as if she understood, and then said: “I am sure it will be all right.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be like Robb,” Sansa snapped, feeling even more ashamed immediately for taking her anger out on her innocent friend.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry!” Alyssa immediately blurted. “It’s just...well, I know your aunt warned you about ears being everywhere, but surely it’s not that bad, is it?”</p>
<p>“How would you know?” Sansa couldn’t stop herself from asking, then added: “And besides, the seamstress was right there in the room with us. If she should talk to anyone...oh, I’m such a fool!”</p>
<p>That brought Alyssa up short, and her next response, when it came, was more measured. “Did you say something truly terrible, then?”</p>
<p>Sansa shook her head. “I always managed to stop myself in time, but- well, it wouldn’t be hard to see some evil intent in my words. I have to do better than this, Aly, I have to.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Alyssa agreed after a moment, “you do. But this was the first time you spoke to your mother properly since coming here, so I’m sure you’ll do better next time.”</p>
<p>“If I can’t even handle her, how am I to deal with someone truly dangerous?” Sansa asked rhetorically, then pulled herself up from the bed. “I need to go talk to Aunt Barbrey, tell her what happened.”</p>
<p>Alyssa only nodded, pressing her hand in silent support, and Sansa left her in her room as she began the trek downstairs. Sansa and Alyssa both had rooms next to Lady Catelyn, towards the top of the tower, but Jon and Aunt Barbrey had been put just short of with the servants. Sansa was furious every time she even thought about it, and now, with every step, she was more and more satisfied everything she’d told her mother. If only she could have kept her mouth shut about anything unrelated to her!</p>
<p>Aunt Barbrey was in the room, sitting on the bed and staring out of the window into the courtyard. She turned and smiled when Sansa entered, then her smile disappeared when she saw her expression.</p>
<p>“My sweet,” she said, rising hastily, “what happened?”</p>
<p>“I’m a fool,” Sansa reiterated, then fell into her aunt’s arms and retold the whole story, careful to only hint at the problem at the heart of it all the while. The least she could do was not to repeat her mistake..</p>
<p>When she was done, Aunt Barbrey sighed and sat her at the bed, settling next to her and taking her hand. “Sansa,” she said quietly, “I know we ask much of you – me, especially. I know you have never done anything like this before. You are far from home, your father died not that long ago, and you are only twelve still. Of course it is difficult, so do not blame yourself when you do not do something perfectly. I am proud of you – you managed to stop yourself from saying anything that some of our enemies could understand as incriminating. Not everyone would have managed that!”</p>
<p>“I would expect even Bran to manage that much,” Sansa retorted, in no mood to be coddled. “I wanted to help so much, and instead I am making things worse…”</p>
<p>“We would not even have the standing to speak to the king without you,” Aunt Barbrey reminded her.</p>
<p>“Yes, but that is hardly my merit, is it? It is simply because I was born to that woman, while Jon-” she shook her head. She was speaking incautiously again. It was just so difficult to get a handle on what she did and said today, because she was so angry.</p>
<p>Not only with herself, either, though that was at the front of her mind for now.</p>
<p>There was her mother, of course, but even aside from that, there was also Joffrey.</p>
<p>It had been the first time she had spent any significant amount of time with the prince. She had spoken to him at feasts in Winterfell, yes, and briefly in courtyards and such, but she had done her best to avoid the boy, not wishing to encourage the idea of the betrothal with any notion that she liked him. But now, with the king wishing for the match and her mother on his side, she had no more room to avoid him, and so when he asked her to ride out with him that morning, she had been forced to agree.</p>
<p>The trouble started when he told her to leave Lady behind. She still took some Stark guards, of course,  so it was not as if she was with him entirely unprotected, but as much as she trusted them - she took care to only pick those who came freshly from the North with them, none of those who had been under Lady Catelyn’s influence for months - they would have been in a very difficult situation had they been forced to act against the prince in any way. Lady, Sansa knew perfectly well, would have had no such concerns.</p>
<p>But there was little she could do. She wished she could have at least had Alyssa with her, but she had not been present when the prince invited her, which was no doubt no coincidence, and so there had been no polite way to include her. It was only her and the prince, and their entourage, keeping more of a polite distance than she was entirely comfortable with.</p>
<p>She had not lied to her mother - the prince had been perfectly pleasant to her. It was the way he chose to be pleasant that made Sansa shiver and chills run down her spine.</p>
<p>For one, he spoke of their future marriage as certainty, and expressed his disgust several times that ‘stupid things’ like her father’s death and her brother’s upcoming marriage were getting int he way of it going forward, as that was apparently the explanation he’d been given. “I’m the prince, anyway,” he said. “Shouldn’t my marriage take precedence over some northern lord?”</p>
<p>Sansa had kept silent, unable to reply to that in a way that would not either anger the prince or shame her brother. The prince had then moved on to speaking about the future in which they would be married, and that was even worse.</p>
<p>“You will make a very pretty queen,” he told her. “Not as beautiful as my mother, of course, but then no woman in the seven kingdoms is. You would probably look terrible in Baratheon yellow, but black might not be too bad. And of course, I might put you in Lannister red, too! I should have some dresses made for you, really, it’s shameful how you always walk around in those Stark colours.”</p>
<p>Sansa did not reply.</p>
<p>“I hope you are as fertile as your mother,” he went on, to her horror. “Three children is just the right number, don’t you agree, my lady?”</p>
<p>Sansa, who had always regarded the Starks siblings as being four in number, said: “Of course, my prince.”</p>
<p>“Two sons and a daughter, too,” he said with approval, “just the right combination. Though your children will have to be more obedient that your brothers! Once I am king, I will make your eldest brother sorry for treating me the way he did, just you wait.”</p>
<p>This, Sansa could not quite tolerate with equanimity, and so she said: “Lord Stark meant no offence, my prince.”</p>
<p>“Lord Stark, pah!” Joffrey tossed his head. “He’s barely older than us. I’m not sending him any wedding gift, just so you know, to show him how he offended me. Are you certain he is truly your brother? You would never offend me that way, would you, my lady?”</p>
<p>“I would not, my prince,” Sansa said entirely truthfully, imagining Robb running a sword through Joffrey as she did so.</p>
<p>“I know you wouldn’t. You will be a good, pretty, obedient wife, will you not?” He asked, and Sansa bit her lip so hard it bled.</p>
<p>It went on and on, a never-ending litany of plans and compliments that made her stomach turn.  It was all she could do to finish the ride without being rude to the prince in any way, and that was only because he was happy with her staying mostly silent and nodding along to anything he said.</p>
<p>She returned to the Red Keep tired and angry already, and to hear her mother say that marriage to Joffrey would ensure her future was safe…</p>
<p>Her mind was recalled to the present as Aunt Barbrey squeezed her hand. “None of us perform perfectly all the time, Sansa,” she told her. “I have made many mistakes in my life. And yes, a mistake here can cost us more than a mistake anywhere else, but that is hardly your fault.” She sighed. “You might have to spend some more time with Prince Joffrey to counteract any malicious rumours that someone might attempt to start based on this conversation with your mother, but apart from that, do not worry.”</p>
<p>Sansa gritted her teeth against the sound of dismay she wished to make. They sat together in silence for a moment, then Sansa shifted, thinking of Alyssa likely still waiting in her room. Sansa hadn’t had time to even tell her about the ride with Joffrey yet. She wished to talk it over with her friend, and wondered if she would manage to guard her tongue and speak only in hints or if they should go take a walk to the castle walls and risk encountering one of the people Sansa absolutely did not have the strength to speak to at the moment.</p>
<p>She bid goodbye to her aunt and headed back upstairs, thinking about how grateful she was to have at least this one friend with her. Ryella, of course, could never have come after what happened, and Ysilla would certainly not have been welcome, but Sansa missed Myranda and thought that the older girl could have been a very useful ally to have in the capital. But her father wanted to marry, some knight of the Vale of all things, and so she had to stay behind. Sansa had wanted to write a letter after her first sennight in the capital was done, to tell Myranda all about it, but now she wondered if there was even anything she could say that would not be too dangerous. She could write of her general impressions of the city, of course, but truth be told she was mostly bewildered. There were so many new things and people and customs around her, it was difficult to be certain what she thought. But she didn’t want to write that to Myranda - she would feel stupid before her worldly older friend.</p>
<p>Besides, Myranda would no doubt ask her about Joffrey anyway, in her return letter. No, Sansa had to wait until she had something better to write.</p>
<p>She returned to her room and, as she had hoped, Alyssa was still waiting for her. Sansa called for some cold dinner to be brought to her rooms and they shared the food amidst frivolous conversation of the dresses they have seen in King’s Landing so far. Sansa did not understand southern clothes, but Alyssa did, at least much more than her, and she explained some of the influences they had seen on important ladies as they finished their ham and bread. All the while, Sansa was trying to decide how to speak safely.</p>
<p>“You never even asked me about my time with the prince,” she began haltingly.</p>
<p>Alyssa smiled at her, and there was a glint in her eye as she said: “I thought that was a conversation much better suited for whispering in the night.”</p>
<p>Of course! Her friend really was clever, perhaps as clever as Wynafryd.</p>
<p>“Share my bed tonight?” Sansa offered, and Alyssa only nodded. They stayed silent through the maids helping them undress and brushing their hair.</p>
<p>It was only once they were huddled together under the covers against the evening cold that Alyssa whispered into her ear. “Tell me about it, Sansa.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Aly…it was horrible.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I was freshly out of editing this chapter when I responded to your comments yesterday, so sorry if I was a bit sharp with some of you for being mean to Sansa - my mind was 100% in this place.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Margaery II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Margaery talks to her brother.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Used as she was to courtesies and polite nothings, Margaery was still grateful to escape from Lord Caswell and his elaborate welcome of her at the Bitterbridge castle, even if it was into her youngest brother’s company.</p>
<p>How she longed for Willas or Garlan! But Loras was to be the only sibling left to her for the foreseeable future, and she would do better to start getting used to it and build as good a relationship with him as she could, and try to get him to see reason while she was at it, though she despaired of the second rather frequently. He truly was very much like father, and his squirehood with Lord Renly did him a poor service. Grandmother was right – as she usually was – the tradition of fostering and squiring truly was a sure way to have a fool raising your heir. She would need to find a way to prevent it once she was married, or at least make certain she could choose the man her sons were sent to. Willas had done very well out of it, she knew – the Hightowers had been an excellent fit for him, though she knew it had taken her mother and grandmother months of concerted effort and praising the qualities of Baelor Brightsmile as a knight before Father had agreed to it. Sadly, he had had quite different ambitions for Willas than being book-wise. Just as he did for Margaery. She could only hope she would not pay for them as dearly as her brother had, though if Loras’ plan succeeded, it would cost her even more, she knew. She would gladly take a lame leg over a marriage to King Robert, and for a wild moment considered injuring herself to prevent it from happening. But no. She would find a better, more dignified way out of this. Willas, she knew, would never forgive her if she did something like that.</p>
<p>She thought of the king some more. She supposed the one advantage to becoming his queen would be that from what Grandmother said, King’s Landing was full of Lannisters now, so if he put the Queen aside, there’d be many empty spaces, and the king clearly was willing to fill them with his wife’s kin. Willas would have to stay in Highgarden, but perhaps Garlan would come to her? But then she didn’t want to rob Willas of all the family support he had and leave him with only Father to contend with either.</p>
<p>She sighed. She had Grandmother, and that should be good enough for her, really.</p>
<p>She wondered who she’d send her son to foster to if she did not become queen. Lord Hightower, perhaps, like Willas had? That seemed like the best option. Certainly Lord Redwyne was too silly to serve, to Grandmother’s frequent complaints. The Florents, of course, were out of the question, and anyone else and the more important lords would regard it as too big an offense. Yes, Lord Hightower would be the best choice, unless Father died before Margaery’s son was of a fostering age. If he did, she would send her son to Willas with no hesitation at all. Otherwise...Margaery wondered what was the shortest time one could leave a child to foster without giving offense. She would have to ask Grandmother.</p>
<p>If she became queen, of course, her eldest son at least would never foster anywhere. Royal eldest sons always had to be raised in the Red Keep, or on Dragonstone when they had been Targaryens, because they were heirs to the throne. That would have been another advantage, if only Margaery wasn’t worried about any influence King Robert would have on his children.</p>
<p>At this point in her thoughts, she reached the training yard and found Loras there, like she knew she would. Her youngest brother was hardly anywhere else, though contrary to Garlan, he seemed to like showing off more than the actual training.</p>
<p>Still, he trashed his opponent in no time at all. It was hardly an achievement – it was a knight of no renown – but still Loras beamed at her when the man yielded, and Margaery obligingly smiled. </p>
<p>“Sister,” he said when he came closer, smiling in turn. “Have you come to give me your favour?”</p>
<p>She almost rolled her eyes at him. “I do not think you need it for these fights,” she replied.</p>
<p>“You are right in that.” He sighed. “I cannot wait to return to King’s Landing to have some proper opponents to choose from once again.”</p>
<p>Margaery’s smile widened. “Surely that is not the only reason you wish to go back there, Loras.”</p>
<p>He suddenly looked cautious, which was not a usual expression on her youngest brother’s face. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>She frowned. Did he really think she did not know? What did he think she and grandmother talked about, embroidery? “Shall we walk?” She asked instead of an answer, and he hastily agreed, calling for his squire and having his armour removed as quickly as possible. He hadn’t even broken a sweat properly, so after just one pass of a wet cloth over his forehead and neck, he was ready to follow her where she led.</p>
<p>There wasn’t much to see about Bitterbridge – a small keep and flat lands all around – but one could see far from it, at least, so she led him to the walls, such as they were, and they found a corner where they would not be disturbed by the guards.</p>
<p>“Loras,” she said softly once there, “of course I know why you are impatient to get back.”</p>
<p>“Well, for the tourney and the prince’s birthday of course-” he began.</p>
<p>Margaery took his hand. “Why would you think I would judge you for something like this?” She asked him seriously. </p>
<p>“Well, you seem prone enough to judge me in other things,” he replied a little sullenly after a moment’s hesitation.</p>
<p>She swallowed down her comment about how he made it easy to judge him when he made plans about her life without consulting her. Now was not the time, she knew. “Things that matter,” she said instead. </p>
<p>He frowned, and she saw his protest on his lips, so she hastened to correct herself: “I only mean to say that I do not care what you do in your bedchamber, as long as it is not injurious to you.” </p>
<p>Loras looked discomfited now. “You shouldn’t speak of such things,” he said. “You are a lady, and a maiden.”</p>
<p>Margaery gave a sigh, and thought of her grandmother again. Did he think she would not have warned her about violent husbands? “I wouldn’t in the presence of strangers,” she assured him, “but you are my brother, Loras. I want to be able to be as open as possible with you, and you with me. You do not have to keep this secret from me.”</p>
<p>He still looked uncertain.</p>
<p>“What is it you are afraid of?” She wondered.</p>
<p>He hesitated, then said: “Father warned me that...well, that now I am no longer Renly’s squire, I should distance myself from him, that of course there would always be a bond between us but that if we were still so close together, people would begin to talk.”</p>
<p>Margaery didn’t have the heart to tell him they already talked. “Father can be…” how to put it without offending him? “...a little...overly peculiar when it comes to his ideas for the future.”</p>
<p>He frowned. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>Margaery was still convinced that it wasn’t the right time to mention her misgivings about her planned marriage, and instead, focused on something that was straightforward enough, painful as it was: “You know how Willas came to be injured.”</p>
<p>Loras’ frown turned into a deep scowl. “Yes, through that Dornish viper,” he spat, “what does it have to do with anything?”</p>
<p>Oh dear. This was even worse than she’d thought. Maragery wondered if Grandmother knew the depth of the gaps in Loras’ understanding. But then, even if she did, what could she do? She had little enough contact with Loras. Perhaps now they would be in the capital together for a time, there would be an occasion to remedy some of it?</p>
<p>“Do you know how old Willas was?” She asked.</p>
<p>That made Loras frown in uncertainty. “I remember he was young…” he said slowly.</p>
<p>“He was thirteen,” Margaery replied heavily. She saw Loras flinch - he might know little about politics, but he knew everything about tourneys, and even he, prodigy as he was, did not ride in tourneys until fifteen. “Do you know why he rode so young?” Margaery pressed.</p>
<p>Loras shook his head, but Margaery could see that he suspected in the look in his eyes.</p>
<p>“Because Father pressed him,” she explained mercilessly. “Because Father was convinced that was what needed to be done for the family prestige, to improve our image. Because father wanted to have the perfect knight for a son. And the only result was that Willas was hurt.” She looked at Loras intently, hoping he understood what she meant to tell him.</p>
<p>Given the look on his face, it seemed he might have.</p>
<p>“Thank you for your words, sister,” he said after a moment, a little strangled. “I will think on them.”</p>
<p>“Please do,” she agreed pleasantly. “I know you ride to King’s Landing tomorrow ahead of me, to be in time for the tourney. Give my greetings to all there who are dear to you, and prepare a warm welcome for me.”</p>
<p>Loras smiled, a little uncertainly it seemed to her, and they parted, Margaery heading to her grandmother. Regardless of whether or not Lady Olenna could do something about Loras’ lack of readiness for any kind of political games, she needed to know. The idea that this brother, of all of them, had been their sole representative in the capital for the last few years was deeply terrifying.</p>
<p>When she arrived at the door, however, Arryk bowed to her and said in an apologetic tone: “Your grandmother is abed, my lady.”</p>
<p>He would let hr in if she insisted the matter was urgent, but this was his way of asking whether what she wished to discuss was worth disturbing the Queen of Thorns.</p>
<p>Margaery had to concede that it was not. They were years to late to change anything of significance, after all.</p>
<p>She turned her steps to her own rooms, where she let the maid undress her as she listened to her enthusiasm about Bitterbridge. Jenny was new, and had not traveled with Margaery before, so Margaery did her best to indulge her, not wishing for her somewhat soured mood to infect the girl. Nevertheless, it cost her some energy, and she was relieved when she was finally left alone, with only one candle burning beside her bed.</p>
<p>She waited for a moment to make sure Jenny would not come back for some forgotten thing, then took out the key to the small treasure chest she took with her wherever she went and went to unlock it.</p>
<p>She took off the shallow upper part, full of necklaces and bracelets of warm gold, and reached underneath for the slim book she was in the middle of reading at the moment, locking the chest again and taking the book with her to bed.</p>
<p>She would have to tell Jenny in time - it never worked to keep secrets from one’s maid long-term, and after all there was no need to tell her what the book was about - but just before a trip to King’s Landing did not seem like the best time. Let her see if Jenny remained loyal in spite of all the temptations the capital would provide, and then she could tell her. Until then, she would make do with secrecy.</p>
<p>She settled back in bed, looking for the page she’d ended on. It was, if she recalled correctly, somewhere around the time of King Jahaerys’ reforms. Yes, there it was: there was that fascinating paragraph on taxation she had to read three times to be certain she understood what was being said properly. She started at its beginning again, smiling a little to herself and settling deeper into her pillows.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I tried to find a line between Marg genuinely caring for her brother (in spite of his idiocy) and not making her be the perfect 21st century ally.</p>
<p>Also Margaery is not actually meant to be as worldly here as she is on the show. When she talked about doing something “injurious” in bed, she, um, did not mean it the way Loras understood it. She was mostly thinking of avoiding lovers who would mistreat him, since that was something she’d been warned against by Olenna.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Jon II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon dines with the king.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aunt Barbrey had warned Jon about King's Landing, but he'd still been surprised. </p>
<p>He thought she had, too. </p>
<p>The place was vile, in every way. </p>
<p>It smelled, for one, but he'd gladly take a smell ten times as bad if it weren't for the rest. </p>
<p>If he’d thought Ysilla had been vile with the way she'd treated him, it was nothing compared to what he got at court. He’d have been simply ignored, he thought, if it hadn’t been for Ghost. But as it was, he was watched with suspicion and hostility everywhere he tried to go, heard barbed comments about savages wherever he turned, and he was banned from entering Maegor’s Holdfast when he wasn’t accompanying Sansa there, and even then the guards gave him unfriendly looks and sometimes covertly followed him. He had to wonder if this was the kind of life he’d have had at Winterfell had Lady Stark had her wish.</p>
<p>Not even his dreams of Ghost - his wolf dreams, as Bran called them - brought him any joy here. Ghost was shut in with him in his tiny room at nights, so instead of the freedom of being a wolf, he dreamt of the anxiety of being shut in that mirror his feelings as Jon, about being shut in the Red Keep in this terrible city.</p>
<p>As it was, he spent most of his time in the local godswood. It was not a proper one, of course, more like a garden, but there was hardly ever anyone there except for the northerners, and so no one bothered him as he played with Ghost and thought of Ryella.</p>
<p>He couldn’t help but wonder what she would say of this place, she who valued honesty and honour so much. She might have hated it even more than him, if only because she always got so righteously angry on his behalf whenever Ysilla had been unfriendly to him. Would she feel uncomfortable, he wondered, with all the richly dressed ladies? She never dressed like that herself, but had never said anything against those who did. Still, in the North there had not been that much of a difference between her and the others. Here, it would have been far greater. Would she have felt pressured to get richer clothes, too, like Sansa had been by her mother?</p>
<p>He missed Ryella so much it was a physical pain. It had been near a moon’s turn since he said his goodbyes, and though Aunt Barbrey kept assuring him it would get better, Jon could not imagine how. Would he suddenly stop loving her? Would he suddenly stop missing someone who understood him so well, who could enter into his every woe, who appreciated him so much? Someone so clever and beautiful and...not a single lady at this vile court, Jon knew, could hold a candle to Ryella. So he knelt in the godswood, clutching his carved piece of weirwood in his hand, and prayed that she was all right, at least, that she at least would heal and be happy, even if Jon would not be.</p>
<p>When his despair and longing calmed a little, he turned his mind to the others deserving of his prayer. He prayed for Robb and Bran back at home, of course, but he couldn’t help thinking that with their proper godswood, they would do a better job praying for themselves. Jon couldn’t help them from the south, so he turned to Aunt Barbrey and Sansa.</p>
<p>He was not sure what to pray for exactly, when it came to Aunt Barbrey. She seemed to him to be mostly...at loose ends. At Winterfell there had always been something for her to arrange, or decide, to take care of. Here, she spent most of her time in her room in the Tower of the Hand. She was always there to advise them when they wanted her, and sometimes she went out and tried to arrange something, but usually she came back soon enough and often looked angry upon her return, so Jon didn’t think she was meeting with much success. He supposed she was trying to find Father’s killer, so in the end that was what he prayed for – that she was successful in her quest.</p>
<p>With Sansa, on the other hand, it was easy. He prayed, with all his strength, for protection. He could see how everyone looked at Sansa here, how their eyes caught on her hair and on her beauty, how they were full of false smiles and false grief about Father. Jon, tasked as he was with protecting her, knew not where to look first, so he asked the gods for help in this. He wished to recognise her enemies, to know whose lies were more than just simple courtesy. He wished to know which men would go further than just looks if given half a chance, even with his sister so young and a highborn lady. He wished...oh, there were so many things he wished that the gods would help him with. Even more than he needed to find Father’s killer, he needed to get Sansa back home safely, he knew. Robb would never forgive him if he didn’t, and he would never forgive himself.</p>
<p>And then, as he was already praying for himself and his success in the capital, he turned his mind to his other worry: the royal family, and Jon’s behaviour around them.</p>
<p>The king seemed to have taken a liking to him.</p>
<p>Jon had dined in his company five times already, invited alongside Sansa every single time. Every time, too, the king explicitly asked for the two of them and Lady Catelyn, and not for Aunt Barbrey. Their aunt had explained that he thought he was dining with Lord Eddard’s family, and that she certainly did not regret not being included except for being unable to support them, but it still irked Jon. If the king and Father had been such friends, should he not have known Lord Eddard’s relationship to Lady Catelyn, and to Aunt Barbrey?</p>
<p>And there were the dinners themselves, too. As they were family affairs, they also included the queen and Prince Joffrey, and sometimes even the younger children. Jon had nothing against them, at least, but the queen was intensely unpleasant, even more than Lady Catelyn was, as she indulged cold silences less and pointed, barbed commentary more, even though she was just as adept at pretending Jon did not exist as Lady Catelyn was. It was a blessing, of course - Jon would much prefer not to be subjected to her barbs. It was enough that she was still able to make ones that obliquely referred to him, about faithless husbands and unwanted children. After every dinner like that, Jon always felt exhausted.</p>
<p>Prince Joffrey tended to second his mother in less polished ways, until his father shouted at him to shut up, and then spend the rest of the dinner in sullen silence. The king did not fear to tell his wife the same, but the queen habitually ignored him.</p>
<p>The king himself got drunk at every single dinner they shared and then had Jon sit next to him and told him stories about his father from their youth in the Vale. That in itself would be nice enough, Jon supposed, but Jon was made intensely uncomfortable by everything else around it, including the way the king always repeated how exactly like Lord Eddard Jon looked. Jon knew it, and had always liked it, but now he couldn’t but understand it as a slight against Sansa, and against his brothers in Winterfell. He knew Sansa had always resented how much like her mother she looked, and he knew the king’s remarks must be rubbing it in.</p>
<p>So now, as he knelt in front of the heart tree, he prayed that he would maintain his courtesy with the king and his family, that he would not say anything wrong or too impulsive, that he would not shame Sansa in any way. That he would not harm her chances to arrange her future as well as possible, and his family’s chances of finding Father’s killer.</p>
<p>He prayed and prayed, until his knees hurt and his mind calmed, and then he rose and went to leave the godswood…only to meet with a servant who told him he had been invited for a private evening with the king, without any other members of his family.</p>
<p>If this was the gods answering his prayer, Jon could not help thinking, they had a strange sense of humour. Or perhaps, whatever weirwood pieces they brought with them, the gods simply had no power in the south.</p>
<p>But there was no choice but to obey, of course, so Jon headed to his little room in the Tower of the Hand to change into his best clothes - he had some new ones made as well, and in his case Aunt Barbrey insisted on silk. It made Jon uncomfortable and he did not believe it helped in any way, but silk clothes he had, and if there was an opportunity to wear them, then certainly a private dinner with the king was it.</p>
<p>Jon didn’t have a mirror in his room, so he couldn’t check how he looked on his own, and instead knocked on Aunt Barbrey’s doors to let her check him over and let her know where he was headed.</p>
<p>She was as worried by the invitation as he was.</p>
<p>“I believe the king honestly likes you,” she said, “but still, be very careful, Jon.”</p>
<p>“I promise.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t the king liking him he was worried about, in any case. It was Jon reacting too transparently to some of the things the king said that <i>Jon</i> did not like.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, patted Ghost on the back, and set out towards Maegor’s Holdfast.</p>
<p>He had to spend a long time arguing with the guards to be let in at all, and it required summoning a servant to be sent to speak to the king, which resulted in a cowering servant coming back and telling them the king was very angry at their reluctance. The guards gave him even more vicious looks upon hearing that, but they did let him in.</p>
<p>“Jon!” The king cried very loudly once Jon entered the private dining room in which he awaited him. “Come, my boy, come and  sit. I heard you had some trouble at the door? Ah, the servants in this place are terrible, I tell you. Everything in this place is terrible.” He waved a very expansive hand at the wine on the table, clearly already quite drunk. “Pour yourself, now, don’t be shy. I’m happy to finally speak to you without the women breathing down our throats, eh?” He shook his head. “My queen has been hounding me for days now, only because she heard some rumours that your sister didn’t like my son all that much. Well, who would like him, I ask you! Shows she’s a sensible girl. Hopefully their children will take more after her than after him. I would be happy to see such pretty granddaughters!”</p>
<p>Jon fought a shudder. His sister was twelve. Twelve! </p>
<p>“There were some things I wanted to tell you about your father without his widow here, too,” the king added after focusing on his meal for a moment. “So many stories not suited to her ears!”</p>
<p>And he proceeded to tell more stories. They were not the same kind of memories Lord Stark used to share: these contained much more drinking and wenching, and in spite of his existence, Jon did not think it was the kind of thing his father would have enjoyed. In this stories, he mostly seemed to be observing from afar as the king, in Jon’s opinion, made a fool of himself.</p>
<p>Jon ate sparingly and drank even less and prayed for the dinner to finally end.</p>
<p>And then, after draining his cup, the king said: "Ah, I'm sorry to never have met the one woman even old Ned could lose his head for," and Jon froze. </p>
<p>"Your Grace?" He said carefully. </p>
<p>"Your mother," the king explained, as if that had not immediately occurred to Jon. "Ned didn't like talking about her, claimed that she was dead so he'd do best to forget her, but I know he never did. That's the real reason he never had any more bastards, not that thrice-damned honour of his, mark my words. When a woman dies that you loved, you never truly get over her." He heaved a sigh, and took a deep drink." Ah, what was that woman's name? We talked of her when we were going down from Winterfell, would that I'd never taken him from there…Wenda? Wylla? Wanda? Something like that, can't for the life of me recall."</p>
<p>Jon sat, and stared, and for all that he’d disliked the king before now, it was only at this moment that he truly hated him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Robert talks to Ned about “Jon’s mother” in that chapter in AGOT where they ride in the Barrowlands, in case you’re wondering where this came from.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Barbrey II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon tells Barbrey about his conversation with Robert, and Barbrey reflects on their time in the capital.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Barbrey was used to Jon coming from the king‘s company a little frustrated, but she had never before seen him with such cold fury in his eyes as when he marched into her rooms and began to pace.</p>
<p>“What happened?” She asked with some apprehension. Their situation in the capital was bad enough without some new disaster striking. The only thing Barbrey wished for at times was being back in the North, as much as she knew it was impossible right now.</p>
<p>“The king,” Jon fairly spat the title, “knows who my mother was.”</p>
<p>Barbrey gave him an incredulous look. Was it possible? That Ned would tell him, when he had never told her in all those years? She knew Robert used to be his best friend, but that was years ago, before Jon was even conceived. Would he have told him after the war, still? Even in spite of their argument over the dead Targaryen children, would Ned have talked about the mother of his own child?</p>
<p>Barbrey found it hard to imagine, and she felt bitter hurt at the idea for a moment, before better sense prevailed and she realized that Robert could either have been there when Ned had met her, or he could have ordered him to part with the information, or as good as.</p>
<p>And she should be focusing on Jon, not her own fragile feelings of hurt.</p>
<p>“Did he tell you?” She asked.</p>
<p>Jon scoffed. “He tried,” he said, “only he couldn’t for the life of him recall the name. A serving woman, apparently, not even worth of being remembered. The king did seem fairly confident her name started with a W, though, so all I need to do is comb the kingdoms for a dead serving woman with a W name!”</p>
<p>He was fairly shouting by the end, and took several deep breaths afterwards to calm himself.</p>
<p>Barbrey, in the meanwhile, was scowling.</p>
<p>“Did the king say anything else?”</p>
<p>Jon shook his head. “Just talked about how she must have been quite a woman, to make my father forget his honour.”</p>
<p>Which meant that Robert had never met her, which in turn meant he had probably ordered Ned to tell him about it. And that…</p>
<p>Barbrey closed her eyes, and hated Robert in that moment too, even more than she had since Ned died.</p>
<p>“I’m sorry, Jon,” she said, “but...”</p>
<p>Jon whirled on her. “What?” He frowned. “Do you know who she was?”</p>
<p>She shook her head. “I don’t...and I don’t think the king knows either.”</p>
<p>That caught Jon off guard, and his frown deepened, some of the anger disappearing. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>She patted the bed next to her, as there was nowhere else to sit in the room, and when he reluctantly settled down, she began: “You know that I was by your father’s side for the last eight years of his life, and for most of that time he discussed every decision with me, he shared every doubt he had. But he never told me who your mother was. The only thing he had ever said…” Barbrey trailed off, then leaned very closed and whispered into Jon’s ear: “The only thing he ever said was hinting that there was a very serious, political reason for why it must never be known. I’ve always assumed that your mother was some noblewoman of very high standing, and perhaps a married one, so that the scandal of the revelation would be too great to risk it ever getting out.” Not that she knew who that would mean. There had only been three ladies paramount alive at the time of Jon’s conception: the Dornish one, the Greyjoy one and Tyrell one. The Dornish and the Greyjoy ones had been too far out of Ned’s way during the war, and the Tyrell one had had a child in the same year as Jon was born, so unless she was to assume Jon had a twin – and that theory was too outlandish by far, such a thing could have never been kept secret – that was impossible as well. But she supposed there were a few other lords important enough that such a revelation would be too much of a scandal. Barbrey had even considered a Targaryen mother, at one point, but the only woman alive had been the queen, and Ned would never have had a chance to even lay eyes on her she was so closely guarded. She returned her thoughts to the present, straightened and finished: “Certainly there is no reason why a serving woman should arouse such secrecy, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>Jon slowly nodded. “But then why would the king…?”</p>
<p>Barbrey shrugged. “I can only guess, mind you, but I imagine he ordered your father to tell him, or asked him in such a way your father saw no way to refuse, and so your father lied.”</p>
<p>“To his king?” Jon asked in shock.</p>
<p>Barbrey gave a small smile. “I know he seemed incapable of it, but he was willing to do it when warranted. When the king had asked for Sansa’s hand for Joffrey, Ned didn’t tell him he’d rather gouge his own eyes out either, and instead spewed some pretty reasons to push the betrothal back. I imagine that rather than outright lying about your mother, your father phrased it in such a way that allowed the king to make assumptions, but if forced, he would have lied, yes. Or do you imagine that if told the truth, the king could keep silent about it, even when in his cups?”</p>
<p>“No,” Jon agreed grimly, “he would not.”</p>
<p>“Then your father would have lied, to protect the woman he loved.”</p>
<p>Jon silently nodded. “I’m still angry with the king,” he said after a moment, “for telling me in such a way. If it had been the truth...”</p>
<p>“I know, Jon. I am angry with the king too, for so many different reasons, but what can we do? We must not make an enemy of him, and...you know that he likes you. We can’t lose that advantage, Jon, especially not after what happened with Sansa.”</p>
<p>“I know,” Jon said heavily. “I promise I will behave myself, Aunt. And you were right. The king said something about the queen speaking to him about how Sansa disliked Joffrey.”</p>
<p>Barbrey gave a deep sigh. Well, that was to be expected. It could hardly be hoped that the seamstress would not talk. “We have to be very careful now,” she said.</p>
<p>“ I know,” Jon replied. “The king didn’t seem like he minded very much, but…I know. I promise I didn’t say anything to him, I just...I just need a bit of time, and then I will he ready to talk to him again.”</p>
<p>She nodded at him, and smiled. “Do you want to come with me to the godswood?” She asked.</p>
<p>He seemed to consider it for a moment, then shook his head. “I think I will go to the training grounds,” he said. “No one much is willing to train with me, but even hacking at a dummy will make me feel better, I think.”</p>
<p>Barbrey only sighed, but nodded at him, and he left, leaving her alone in her small, desolate room.</p>
<p>King’s Landing was a depressing experience, every single bit of it crushing her under its weight. The smell, the people, the small room, the looks she always received...she got used to being someone of consequence, first as a ruling lady in her own right and then as a de facto lady of Winterfell. But here, she was no one. There were minor lords dime a dozen in the Red Keep, and no one had even as much as heard of Barrow Hall here. She did not look important, she did not dress important – a concession she refused to make – and so no one paid her any mind. Her enquiries met with no help. She was frustrated, and felt that she was failing Ned and his children, a feeling that she desperately hated. She was beginning to feel that this whole journey south had been a waste that put the children unnecessarily at risk.</p>
<p>She worried about Sansa most of all. Yes, Jon had the bitter experience of finding out how bastards were treated in the South, except for Dorne she supposed, but that would only make him more eager to return home. As long as the king kept from any more revelations like this one, there was no serious danger to Jon here.</p>
<p>Sansa, on the other hand...well, Sansa had to contend with her mother.</p>
<p>The Tully woman had not given up her attempts to spend as much time as possible with her daughter, and unlike in Winterfell under Ned’s rule, there was not much Barbrey could do against it except for involving the Stark men-at-arms, something she had considered doing once or twice already, because it was very clear the time with her mother was hurting Sansa. From every conversations he returned upset and angry, and Barbrey had to listen to many a rant about how terrible and cruel and cold and selfish the Tully woman was, that all she could talk of was duty and responsibility, as if the only things that mattered were Sansa being courteous with her and marrying Joffrey like a good little girl.</p>
<p>Barbrey did not know what to do for her except offer her her ear to listen, and her arms to embrace her, and a prayer that the six weeks they had left in the capital would pass as soon as possible. Terrible as it was, it was slowly becoming more important to her than her prayers for success in their endeavour, </p>
<p>She had begun to consider it, too. What if, when the prince’s name day came, they were no closer to finding the culprit behind the murder? What should they do? Certainly it seemed that if it stayed up to her, they would discover nothing. For all her determination, she could not get anywhere with her attempts at investigation, so their only hope was Lord Tyrion being successful in his attempts. And for all Barbrey liked him, she was well aware that he was still a Lannister and she could trust him to be truthful even less than she could trust most others at court.</p>
<p>Her first thought, at the idea of failure, was alway guilt over Ned. He’d been a good friend to her, and he gave her an opportunity that would have otherwise passed her by, and though she normally did not think of herself as owing him anything - she helped him in turn, after all - she certainly thought there were enough ties between them to owe him justice.</p>
<p>But she also knew Ned enough to know he would have prioritised safety and happiness of his own children. As long as he realised the danger, at least. Ever since Barbrey came to the capital, she had been imagining both brothers here. Brandon, rushing in with his sword out and being strangled to death in the throne room, and Ned, coming in with his idea of honour and not noticing the shadows closing in around him. She was confident he would not have noticed most things wrong with this place. She was confident she herself did not notice most, in fact, and she was still sure she saw more than him. She was doubly glad that Sansa had been prevented from going south with him, because even though Barbrey could do little about the dangers around her, at least she could warn her. Ned, poor man, would have been absolutely clueless. But if he had not been - if he had noticed the danger this place represented to his daughter - he would have wished her safe above anything else. So Barbrey could almost contend with her own guilt over the idea of potentially leaving Ned’s murder unavenged, because it would be what he would have wanted, in these circumstances.</p>
<p>But sadly, her personal feelings were not the only, or even the most important, concern in the matter.</p>
<p>There was also Robb’s security as the new Lord Paramount of the North.</p>
<p>Robb, with his youth and his southern looks, could not expect to keep the loyalty of his bannermen if he could not bring his father’s killers to justice. Had he been more northern, it would have been easier. It would have been possible to convince most that Ned’s death had been the result of the folly of going south. There would have been some calls for seceding from the seven kingdoms, perhaps, in response, but those likely could have been quieted with some concessions wrangled from the king, which would likely not have been too difficult in the wake of Ned’s death.</p>
<p>But Robb looked southern, and his mother was Catelyn Tully, and so his position was worse and he needed to prove that he would fight for his father, that he was not loyal to the south instead.</p>
<p>And the spectre of Roose Bolton was always on Barbrey’s mind.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Barbrey: ned would do anything for the safety of his children!<br/>Meanwhile, canon!ned: so let’s tell cersei I know about her high treason *before* I get my daughters out to safety…</p>
<p>random thought: one of the many unrealistic aspects of GRRM’s worldbuilding is how the lords never seem to remarry. Marriages are one of the most powerful political tools in Westeros, and yet we have three Lord Paramount widowers at the time of the war? Plus Doran, who might not be a widower but is effectively separated, though that only happens later. I can maaaybe get Tywin not remarrying, but Hoster? Seriously? Willing to marry his daughter to the ancient Jon Arryn, but he himself doesn’t get a wife to help him raise his child son, not even after Cat gets married? Rickard might not have really had time, as we don’t really know when Lyarra Stark died, bu if he had, it would be equally absurd for him not to remarry.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Tyrion III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tyrion gets a letter, goes on two visits, has a conversation and makes a decision.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tyrion really should have known that Cersei was by far not the only one reporting to his father from King's Landing.</p>
<p>The letter arrived with the new year, and already promised to spoil all of it for Tyrion. Lord Tywin was threatening to arrive in person to see to it unless Tyrion immediately ceased his "shameful behaviour" and returned to Casterly Rock. </p>
<p><i>I could perhaps learn to tolerate you taking a whore once in a while, knowing I can expect no better from you,</i> it said, <i>but this purposeful dragging of our name through the mud must stop immediately.</i></p>
<p>Tyrion gave a mournful sigh over it, and considered how to respond. Part of him insisted that there was no point in trying to explain anything, that his father would not hear it. Another part, though, grit its teeth and said firmly, no.</p>
<p>No, for once in his life he was doing something his father would actually find worthwhile - though likely would not approve of the reasons for it, at least not entirely - and he would not be berated for it. Whatever his methods. After all, Lord Tywin was hardly one to shy away from methods that were unsavoury, was he?</p>
<p>And so, determined, he sat down and composed his response:</p>
<p>
  <i>Dearest and most esteemed father,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>I am surprised by your fury. After all, as you know, Lord Stark recently perished pursuing such dalliances, so you may always hope that I will one day struck gold in my search and will be struck down just as he had been, thus ridding you of the burden of my existence. As for me, I certainly hope to discover what it was that the Hand of the King thought worth dying for. That is hardly something to be criticised for, is it not, having such lofty idols?</i>
</p>
<p>Then he went to Pycelle and watched him send the sealed letter, before he could lose his courage.</p>
<p>After that, he headed to Chataya's - partly in defiance, party because he truly did need an update.</p>
<p>As it turned out, he was in luck. Alayaya rose from her reading and knelt in front of him to embrace him, and as she did, whispered into his ear: “We found another bastard of the king, m’lord.”</p>
<p>“Good work,” Tyrion returned, pulling her closer.</p>
<p>“He’s been visited by Lords Stannis and Arryn as well, too.”</p>
<p>Tyrion’s eyes widened. <i>Bullseye</i>, he thought.</p>
<p>“Where?” He murmured as he pulled Alayaya towards the bed.</p>
<p>“Motto’s smithy,” Alayaya replied, climbing over him. Tyrion was truly glad she told him she was not in truth sixteen, as that lessened his discomfort at his bodily reactions significantly. “It’s one of the most popular ones in the city, frequented by many from the Red Keep. He’s an apprentice there.”</p>
<p>Good, Tyrion thought - it should not be too difficult to find an excuse to stop by.</p>
<p>He fought the urge to rush away immediately. Instead, he thought for a moment and then whispered: “Get your book.”</p>
<p>She look confused for a moment, but then she smiled and darted to the table, reaching for it, then climbing back into Tyrion’s embrace. He took it from her and held it open, and she murmured the words she read into his ear. She had improved markedly since he’d first seen her practising, and while she was still not quite smooth, she hardly ever stuttered now, she simply read slowly, with longer pauses between words than would be customary.</p>
<p>Tyrion was proud of her. At least someone’s life was going well.</p>
<p>He left when it was expected of him and then waited two more days, during which he struck a conversation with Renly about his armour, before, on his way back from a ride - oh, how he hated those things still - he headed to Motto's smithy.</p>
<p>It took him precisely one look at Robert's bastard to have a very good idea what this whole thing was about. He did not have very clear memories of Robert when he’d first taken the throne, but even the little he remember was enough to tell him that the two looked nearly identical. And he remembered Alayaya offhandedly telling him, too, that the child born in their brothel looked like a little infant copy of the king.</p>
<p>He ordered a chest plate to justify his visit, thinking that with the dangerous waters he was wading into it might even actually come in useful, then retreated as fast as he could back to his rooms in the Red Keep, to have some privacy for his thoughts. </p>
<p>For one, he very much wanted to know how Arryn and Stannis figured it out. It was easy for him. He already knew that Cersei’s children were Jaime’s, not Robert’s, and so he could understand what danger the king’s bastards represented as soon as he realised that they looked so much like Robert. But even if Stannis or Arryn came across Motto’s apprentice by accident first and noticed the similarity, Tyrion still did not think it would have been enough to tip them off. After all, if a father’s trueborn children not looking like him while his bastards did was enough to prove a wife’s infidelity, Lady Catelyn would have been thrown out of Winterfell a long time ago. No, it seemed more likely that Cersei would betray herself in some way, and that would lead Stannis or Arryn or both to investigate. He would ask his sister, if only he didn’t know that she would probably have him killed for such an obvious indication that he knew she was sleeping with Jaime.</p>
<p>He contemplated the problem. He supposed that it was possible it wasn’t her fault, beyond the sheer stupidity of having illegitimate children while married to the king. He vaguely recalled that there was another bastard of Robert’s, the only noble-born one, who lived in Baratheon lands. If he looked so much like Robert as well, and if Stannis knew him and then came across Motto’s apprentice by accident, it could have been enough to start him down the right track on its own. Or at least enough to seek the other bastard, the little baby girl.</p>
<p>But however Stannis had found out, or Arryn, they had been taking steps, sharing their suspicions and initiating some sort of investigation, which had of course made them dangerous. And Lord Eddard had followed in their footsteps.</p>
<p>The thing of it was, though, he was still almost certain it hadn't been Cersei who killed Stark. But her motive was the most glaringly obvious, which might be an accident, but more likely meant someone else was trying to implicate her. </p>
<p>Tyrion couldn't care less if she burned in all seven hells, but any plot against her was likely to involve Jaime as well, and that he could not allow. </p>
<p>What he most needed to know now was whether it had been her who killed Jon Arryn. That, he truly did not know. It seemed obvious enough that he and Stannis had discovered the truth about the children's parentage, and that Stannis alone was no danger - Robert would likely not believe him. That had to be why the man had retreated to Dragonstone, for his own safety.</p>
<p>Was this his sisters work? Had she poisoned Arryn when she’d realised what he knew, and had someone then taken advantage of it when killing Stark, arranging the murder in such a way that it would point to her? Killing Arryn would have been risky, but it would have been one of the only choices left to her. That or killing Robert, and even Cersei probably realised that Joffrey on the throne was a disaster best avoided as long as possible. </p>
<p>But killing Stark when he must have been near the same discovery…who would have known enough to take advantage of it so skillfully, if that was indeed what happened? Or could it had been a coincidence? That seemed highly unlikely…</p>
<p>Suddenly Tyrion froze. Could it have been Jaime, to protect them? But no, his brother would have gone and done it himself, if Cersei told him, would have run Stark through with his own sword. He needed someone else with a motive. </p>
<p>He also needed to decide what to tell Lady Dustin. It could hardly be the truth, but he did want to give her something at least. </p>
<p>Oh, damn it all. Why did his siblings have to implicate the whole kingdom in their affairs?</p>
<p>He decided that he needed to speak to Jaime all the same, if only to make certain that his brother was truly not behind this, or that Cersei wasn't. If Jaime knew about her killing Arryn, Tyrion was well aware he could not lie convincingly enough to keep it from him.</p>
<p>Jaime was in the training yard, crossing swords with Ser Barristan, a group of avid watchers looking on. Tyrion noticed Jon Snow and his wolf among them, though they stood alone and aside, not very surprisingly. Tyrion decided to go and join them as he waited for the spar to end.</p>
<p>"Who would you bet on?" He asked the bastard.</p>
<p>The young man startled a little, evidently not having noticed his arrival, but looked down at Tyrion without any dismay at discovering him there. "I do not know," he admitted. “This is the first time I see them fighting each other, and I do not know which of them is better. Certainly I know Father would have wished me to say Ser Barristan, but…"</p>
<p>"But mayhaps you have learnt that honour alone is not enough to win you a fight?" Tyrion asked shrewdly.</p>
<p>Snow frowned and did not answer.</p>
<p>They watched in silence for a while until finally Jaime's sword clattered to the ground and he yielded, breathing heavily.</p>
<p>Jon Snow grinned. "It seems this time, honour was enough."</p>
<p>"Or thirty years more fighting experience," Tyrion replied dryly.</p>
<p>Jaime noticed him, then, and come towards them, casting Jon Snow a curious look that made the boy reflexively scowl. Tyrion rolled his eyes.</p>
<p>"Jaime," he said. "Ten more years and no doubt you will get him."</p>
<p>Jaime grinned. "Thank you for the trust, brother. Have you come to simply admire me?"</p>
<p>"My favourite pastime, as you know, but I did actually wish to speak."</p>
<p>"Then come." </p>
<p>They headed to the White Sword Tower together, Tyrion nodding to Snow as they left.</p>
<p>“Still friendly with the bastard?” Jaime asked.</p>
<p>“I told you they were my favourite,” Tyrion replied. “Don’t tell me it bothers you.”</p>
<p>“Not me,” Jaime replied, and the knowledge of what their father or sister would say sat between them for a moment.</p>
<p>“I had a letter from Father.” Tyrion told him, reminded, as they entered the tower.</p>
<p>Jaime grimaced a little. “Anything of note?” He asked, trying to keep his tone light.</p>
<p>“No, just the usual admonitions about my reprobate lifestyle. Speaking of which, do you have wine?”</p>
<p>Jaime did have wine, though Tyrion sometimes suspected he kept it mainly for him.</p>
<p>“So what was it you needed, little brother?” Jaime wondered cheerfully once he poured.</p>
<p>Tyrion looked him in the eye and asked firmly but very quietly: “Did Cersei kill Jon Arryn?”</p>
<p>Jaime’s eyes widened and he cast a mildly panicked look to the firmly closed door. “What?” He asked incredulously. “Why would she…no! Why in the seven hells would she do that?”</p>
<p>“So she didn’t come to you with the news that he’d discovered your littles secret, then?”</p>
<p>Jaime’s alarm grew. “He did?”</p>
<p>“I don’t know it for certain,” Tyrion demurred, “but it does seem so, from some of the things I’ve come across.”</p>
<p>“Come across…how? Can anyone else come across them?” Jaime insisted, and Tyrion could see his hand tightening on the sword.</p>
<p>That was the question, wasn’t it. Tyrion thought about mentioning the bastards, but Jaime would no doubt tell Cersei, and Tyrion did not have to think for long to know exactly what kind of solution she would pick for the situation.</p>
<p>Then again, while he did not approve of that road, it was still true that the existence of the bastards was a problem and a risk, and Tyrion didn’t want to see Jaime lose his head. The little girl, he supposed, wasn’t so much of an issue. All babies looked mostly the same, and even if she did have blue eyes and black hair, well, so did many others. Being a girl, and so small, made it less likely anyone would notice the similarity, and where would they even come across her? But this boy…he worked in a smithy where any number of other lords might come across him and start asking uncomfortable questions, and Tyrion needed to think of a way to remove the risk that would not end with him dead in a gutter.</p>
<p>How to make someone disappear alive?</p>
<p>Two images immediately jumped to his head: a cold courtyard full of sullen young men in black training their swordsmanship, and Lady Dustin speaking to a man of the Night’s Watch in one of the courtyards of the Red Keep. He’d come to the capital for recruits.</p>
<p>Yes, Tyrion supposed that was one very effective way to remove the danger. He wasn’t certain how he’d get the boy to join, exactly, but in his experience, there were few problems a large sum of money could not solve. And the Watch could certainly use more capable men.</p>
<p>Perhaps he might even write to Maester Aemon to keep an eye on the boy. It would be a good excuse to write to him, at any rate. Yes, he was liking this solution more and more by the minute.</p>
<p>“Tyrion?” Jaime prompted, when he stayed silent for long.</p>
<p>“No, brother,” Tyrion said with a slow smile. “There is no chance of anyone else finding out at all.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next up: Bran!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Bran II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Unexpected visitors come to Winterfell.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bran was secretly training warging in the godswood when Jojen Reed found him.</p>
<p>He had no one left in Winterfell to train with, not with Robb always busy and all the other people who knew about it gone, and so he trained alone, trying to avoid Robb finding out. He didn't want his brother to feel guilty. Bran was supposed to be of help to him, not be a burden.</p>
<p>Besides, after the very interesting conversation he had overheard between Wynafryd and Lady Leona, he’d been trying to repeat his success. He was supposed to fight for Robb, but he was too young for that still, and he realised that one thing he could do, even at his age, was spy for him. In the end, Wynafryd and her mother hadn’t really said anything worth going to Robb with, but they might - Lady Leona might - at another time, or someone else might. Bran had heard Aunt Barbrey mentioning that the king had his own spymaster once, and when he’d asked she explained it was someone responsible for bringing him information he wouldn’t otherwise know.</p>
<p>Bran could be Robb’s spymaster, couldn’t he? He could do that even when he was only eight. He just needed to discover some important secret first, and then bring it to Robb, and Robb couldn’t use the excuse that Bran was too young because Bran would have already proven that he was old enough to be useful.</p>
<p>So Bran was trying every way he could - spying with Summer’s ears, while climbing walls, and even just sneaking around the castle as himself. He hadn’t found anything yet, but he would, he was sure of it.</p>
<p>At first he’d tried following Wynafryd around, but by now he was convinced that she wasn’t actually plotting with Lady Leona behind Robb’s back, and that she didn’t have any bad intentions towards the wolves. It’s been over a month, and he hadn’t seen her be anything but friendly. Besides, she was spending more and more time with Robb, too, even sitting in on some of his meeting with Vayon Poole now, so it was harder to sneak around her without Robb noticing. Bran determined to fully focus on Lady Leona instead. She was the more suspicious one anyway, Bran had just wanted to be sure that there was nothing wrong at all, because, well, Lady Leona would leave Winterfell after the wedding. Wynafryd would be Robb’s wife.</p>
<p>The Reeds had arrived to Winterfell the previous day. Bran had not paid much attention to them, more focus on his plans of how to best get close enough to Lady Leona to hear what she was talking about with her maid. They’d come unexpectedly, unannounced, which was a little interesting Bran had to admit, but they had gone to see Robb and sat sequestered with him somewhere for a long time. Bran had been worried they brought more bad news with them, but Robb had not seemed sad or angry after talking to them - if something, he'd seemed relieved when he'd gone to bid Bran good night - so Bran let it be. Though the newcomers were strange enough to catch Bran’s interest, he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to them anyway. He’d never seen cragonmen before, and wasn’t sure what to think of them.</p>
<p>But now he opened his eyes after warging Summer, only to look directly into the face of the Reed boy. </p>
<p>“What are you doing here?” Bran shouted, alarmed. His warging was supposed to be a secret. He had considered telling Old Nan at least many times - she would be interested to know something from her stories was in Winterfell now, he’d thought. But then he remembered that the wargs were always the villains in her stories and hesitated and then always thought better of it. What if she no longer wanted to speak to him, if she found out?</p>
<p>But even if she did not mind, that was Old Nan, who was closest to Bran right after his family. Some stranger who'd just arrived the day before was definitely not supposed to find out about his warging.</p>
<p>Jojen Reed, however, only gave him a serene smile. “I’m here to teach you,” he said.</p>
<p>Bran frowned. “Teach me? Teach me what?” He had quite enough studying with Maester Luwin, and for the sword he had Ser Rodrick. He didn’t need any more teachers.</p>
<p>“About being a warg...,” Jojen Reed replied still with the same smile, “and a greenseer.”</p>
<p>Bran’s eyes widened. He forgot all about secrecy, because if this was true… “You are a greenseer?” He asked, excited.</p>
<p>Jojen shook his head, serene but decisive. “I am only a boy who dreams. Greenseers were much more powerful than that, and so will you be.”</p>
<p>“I will?” Bran was surprised. It had been a while since he’d last spoken to the three-eyed crow, and he’d never gotten any particular promise from it, beyond flying.  “How do you know, if you’re not a greenseer?” He wondered.</p>
<p>“Like I said, I dream,” Jojen replied. “Green dreams, we call them. They tell me of the future, sometimes.” He frowned. “It’s images more than anything else, and I don’t always know what to do, but I knew I had to go here and speak with your brother and teach you and help you.”</p>
<p>“Will you teach my brother as well?” Bran didn’t know how to feel about it. He would like to have someone to share warging with, he thought, but at the same time…if Robb could warg too, he would no doubt be better at it than Bran, because he was older, and then what would be the use of Bran’s powers?</p>
<p>Jojen shook his head again, and this time it was more sad. “Lord Stark’s talent is weak,” he replied, and Bran felt a little relieved. “Mayhaps if he has longer time with his wolf, he will become stronger, but now, I could not teach him anything. You, however...well, you are a very different thing.”</p>
<p>"I have the most wolf dreams of all my siblings," Bran announced eagerly, because if Jojen had talked it over with Robb, then it must be fine, must it not? "Or at least I did before they left south,” he amended, “I don't truly know about now. But, anyway, I'm the only one who can warg while awake. It's because the three-eyed crow taught me!"</p>
<p>"Three eyed crow?" Jojen seemed as interested as Lord Tyrion had been before him. "I've dreamed of a third eye," he said then. "But it was you who had it, and I"d seen it opening. But you said this was a crow?"</p>
<p>"It was," Bran agreed. "I think it's a greenseer. It definitely told me that it can teach me many things, and it showed me some things too...it showed me my father, even when he was still alive but already south."</p>
<p>"Then I think he is a greenseer too," Jojen agreed, and his serene tone gave way a little to some excitement. "I think it's who I’ve been seeing in my dreams as well, though not as a crow. It is good that you dream of him. Perhaps you will even help me understand my dreams."</p>
<p>"I don't know about that," Bran said hesitantly. "I don't know anything about dreams, except the wolf ones.”</p>
<p>"But you could ask the crow, could you not?" Jojen insisted.</p>
<p>"I could, when I next see him," Bran admitted.</p>
<p>"Good.” Jojen smiled, then grew serious again, and returned to his serene tone and intense look as he said: “Now show me your warging, please."</p>
<p>Bran took a deep breath. He did not know why he felt nervous - he had warged in front of people many times, all the time, in fact, before they left south. But they had all been family, and he had only just met Jojen, and besides, his family didn’t know anything about it, but Jojen did, and what if he was told he was doing it wrong?</p>
<p>But Jojen was just sitting there, looking at him, and so Bran finally turned to Summer and, with one look into his eyes, plunged into his mind.</p>
<p>It was just as nicely freeing as always, even with Jojen’s eyes on him, and Bran-as-Summer ran around Jojen a few times before stopping in front of him and nudging his hand with his front paw, trying to shake hands.</p>
<p>Jojen, once again, broke his serenity for a small smile and sort of caressed Summer’s paw with his hand, as he could not really take in it his - it was too big for him.</p>
<p>Bran’s - Summer’s - nose twitched, and he tilted his head.</p>
<p>“It’s alright,” Jojen said, “you can come back to yourself.”</p>
<p>Bran did. Jojen was still smiling.</p>
<p>“That was very good,” he said. “I will not have to help you with the basics at all.”</p>
<p>Bran didn’t know if that was a good thing. He was proud, but… “Will you be able to teach me, then?” He wondered.</p>
<p>“I trust the dreams to help me,” Jojen said simply. Bran had to wonder why the crow couldn’t simply tell <i>him</i> what to do, why did I need Jojen to be an in-between. He considered asking the crow when he next saw it, but then asked Jojen, instead.</p>
<p>Jojen frowned, thinking about it. “Do you see the crow often?” He asked.</p>
<p>Bran shook his head. “Only once or twice a moon’s turn, lately,” he admitted.</p>
<p>“Then perhaps this is why. I can be with you every day.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Bran said, frustrated, “but why can’t I dream about the crow regularly instead?”</p>
<p>“We have stories,” Jojen replied, “about the greenseers of old. Sometimes, when a message they needed to send was too urgent and they overexerted themselves, they died in delivering it. These powers you have, and that he has, they have a price.”</p>
<p>Bran shuddered. Well, he definitely did not want the crow to die when it was trying to contact him!</p>
<p>“All right,” he said. “Thank you for coming, then.”</p>
<p>“It is my task, Bran Stark,” Jojen replied. “And you have been growing too comfortable with your skills.”</p>
<p>That night, Bran dreamt of the three eyed crow once again. It was sitting on a branch of a weirwood tree, its head to the side.</p>
<p>"Did you send Jojen to me?" He asked it.</p>
<p>"I did," the crow replied.</p>
<p>"Thank you," Bran said feelingly. "I will finally have someone to talk to."</p>
<p>The crow looked amused, which Bran didn't think crows usually could. "That is not why I sent him to you, Bran Stark."</p>
<p>"I know," Bran agreed, "but still. You could have sent me someone old and boring. You sent me a boy my age, so thank you for that!"</p>
<p>The crow still seemed amused, but did not argue with him. Instead, it asked: "And what have you learnt from Jojen Reed, then?"</p>
<p>"Nothing much yet," Bran admitted. "He just watched me, and then said it was getting too easy for me with Summer."</p>
<p>"And is it true?"</p>
<p>Bran hesitated. "I don't know what too easy means, but it is easy. I don't have to struggle at all, I just look at Summer and think of it and I am in his skin."</p>
<p>"Only when you look at your wolf?" the crow wanted to know.</p>
<p>Bran brightened. "That's a brilliant idea! Thank you!" He definitely needed to try wargign Summer without looking into his eyes. Why had he never thought of that?</p>
<p>In fact, he decided when he woke up, he would try it right then. Summer was not in his room, which probably meant he was in the godswood, so Bran sort of tried to think of it and think of Summer running in it and then...he was there.</p>
<p>Suddenly he was running among the trees in the dawn light, rolling around among th leaves on the ground, happy and carefree, Bran's happiness for once combining with the wolf. For a moment, he didn't think of his dead father or of how lonely he was or of how he still sometimes shamefully missed his mother, he only thought of the joy or running in his wolf's skin, and the accomplishment of doing that from his bed.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For those of you who keep some track of time as it correlates to canon, yes, the Reeds did arrive sooner - Bran is more advanced in his skills, so Jojen’s dreams led him there earlier.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Jon III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon spars, dines with the king again, and learns some news.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Lunar New Year!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon had just been starting to get to used to the looks and comments everyone in King’s landing gave him when the situation changed again. </p><p>At first he'd thought it was just that he'd finally found someone kind in King's Landing, when someone offered to spar with him as he was hacking at a dummy in the training yard. The man had been exceedingly bad, but it was still better than nothing, and Jon was just thanking him for the match when Lord Tyrion, walking by, stopped to greet him and said, as if by the way: "Ah, I see they've noticed you are popular with the king." </p><p>And once Jon was looking for it, he suddenly saw it clear as a day. Since that horrible first time he’d sat alone with the king, he'd been summoned twice more, and also since then, a few people had started to be kind, or at least kinder. The looks and muttering did not lessen any, but a few of those who'd ignored him completely until then had started to greet him or offer to assist him in some way. And the more times the king asked him to drink with him, the more common it was. </p><p>The man in the sparring match hadn't been terrible, he'd been letting him win. </p><p>The realisation made Jon furious, and from then on, he let go of kindness and trashed any opponent in the training yard that offered to face him - they were all, he found out soon enough, trying to let him win…at least at the beginning. He didn’t win every much, but he did win most - it seemed to him that most fo those who challenge him knew little about fighting. He wondered if all southerners were this inept, and lacking in spine.</p><p>Aunt Barbrey and Sansa both tried to convince him that he should be glad of the reprieve, that whatever the reasons behind it, this made his situation easier at least, but Jon could not. The dishonesty of it grated at him. He’d thought, for just  moment, that he could find some connection in this cursed city, but no. It was impossible not to think of Ryella in those moments, of her commitment to honesty. She had offered to spar with him, too, but it was because she’d wished to make his name day better, no…Jon grimaced, and swung his sword harder.</p><p>He'd spent a few days doing that when Ser Barristan found him hacking at a dummy. </p><p>"Jon Snow," he said. "I've heard it said around the Red Keep that you're becoming the scourge of the training yard. Would you care to measure your worth against someone with a little more experience?" </p><p>Jon could only stare. Surely Ser Barristan of all people would not be here to curry some kind of favour? What would the commander of the kingsguard ever need his favour for? Besides, Father had always respected him. So why was he there? </p><p>"I…I would be honoured, Ser," Jon replied, after too long a pause. </p><p>Ser Barristan merely inclined his head, and they both stepped into position. </p><p>Jon was soundly trashed, of course, in minutes, but he hadn't felt this alive since saying goodbye to Ryella, and he was grinning widely as he yielded. </p><p>"You take to defeat as enthusiastically as to victory," Ser Barristan said, sounding bemused. "Do you wish for another bout?" </p><p>"Nothing would give me more pleasure, ser, if you have the time." </p><p>They fought several more, and Jon lost all of them, but he walked back to the Tower of the Hand with a spring in his step. </p><p>That night, he sat with the king again, and was soundly slapped on the back by him as soon as he settled down. “I've heard you went a few rounds with Ser Barristan," the king said. "He had only words of praise for you. I've half a mind to add a squire's melee to Joff's name day tourney so that you could compete." </p><p>"I am not a squire, Your Grace," Jon pointed out. </p><p>The king waved it aside. "I'm the king. If I say you can compete, you can compete." </p><p>That, of course, was King Robert in a nutshell. Just the day before, Jon’d heard someone say, he’d had an enormous outburst when someone indicated he could not make some decision or another. Given this, Jon merely inclined his head, unable to produce any words that would not be discourteous, and hoped that it would prove to be only a passing whim on the king’s side. The very last thing he wanted was competing in a tourney of any kind, squires’ or otherwise. It had always seemed like the very pinnacle of southern frivolity to him - fighting, risking lives, simply for amusement - but if the king organised an amusement especially for him, he knew perfectly well there was no way he could ever refuse.</p><p>“Ah, today is a good day,” the king added, chuckling and drinking deeply from his cup. Jon rarely saw him truly very drunk, but always saw him drink, which made him think that the king’s tolerance of alcohol had to be truly monumental. Now, however, he seemed inebriated simply because of the brightness of his smile, as he chuckled again and said: “You know, we think we’ve found who was behind Ned’s death.”</p><p>That made Jon sit up straight immediately. “Who?” he asked, breathless.</p><p>The smile on the king’s face immediately clouded over, and anger burned in his eyes. “The Targaryens,” he spat. “That thrice damned beggar king - ah, Ned was arguing for his sister, for me to preserve her life, and meanwhile, they were planning his death! Gods damn the dragonspawn, I should have killed them a long time ago. It will be done now, don’t you worry.” And the king laughed again, the anger disappearing as fast as it appeared. “Ned will be avenged, and I will be able to stop being so gods damned careful!”</p><p>Jon felt as if his mind had slowed down almost to a standstill. The Targaryens? They had never even considered such a thing…it made sense, Jon supposed, only… “Have they tried to reach Your Grace yet?” He asked.</p><p>Robert waved his hand. “No doubt they’d have tried if I didn’t start paying attention. My spies say they wanted to weaken me first by killing my closest allies - it is possible, they say, that Jon Arryn died because of them, too.” The king shook his head. “I will kill them for this, I promise you that. I wasn’t supposed to speak of this yet, we meant to flush them out before we make it public that we know, but Jon, you deserve to know.”</p><p>Jon only nodded. His mind was churning, unable to settle. Was this it? Was their task done? Did the king, or rather his spies, truly discover the murderers of his father?</p><p>The king went on to recall the war against the Targaryens, and Jon nodded at all the right places and drank as little as he could, and this whole time, his mind felt like it was buzzing strangely, unable to settle.</p><p>When the king finally released him, it was late at night, but Jon did not feel sleepy at all as he headed to his aunt’s room to wake her up and tell her what he’d learnt.</p><p>Aunt Barbrey stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, then, without a word, fetched a guard and went with him to wake up Sansa as Jon waited. The servants here were not, he knew, to be trusted, but the guards were still loyal to Winterfell, as far as they knew.</p><p>Aunt Barbrey returned with a Sansa who looked sleepy and confused, and settled her on the bed on one side of Jon while she sat on the other. “Now,” she said, “tell us everything the king told you.”</p><p>“It wasn’t much,” Jon admitted slowly. “Simply that it was the Targaryens, and that the ‘beggar king’ was behind it, and that Father had wished to spare them while they were plotting his death.”</p><p>“That sounds like Ned,” Aunt Barbrey said with a sigh. There was a silence as they all contemplated this, then she added: “I wonder how they got Ned in that brothel, though. I haven’t found much in my investigation, but our guards do speak to me, at least, and they confirmed that he truly did die in a brothel, and that, as Lord Tyrion said, Ned went to one because he was looking for the place Lords Stannis and Arryn had gone to. The men who killed him, too, were hiding inside the brothel, clearly waiting for him already when he arrived. The beggar king across the Narrow Sea is one thing, but it wasn’t him who arranged all that, was it?”</p><p>“I suppose that is what the king meant by flushing them out,” Jon said slowly. “He said we shouldn’t talk about this yet, that they want to catch the conspirators unaware.”</p><p>Aunt Barbrey snorted. “And yet he got drunk and babbled about it to you first chance he got? Mark my words, this secret won’t stay secret long.” She scowled. “If Ned’s killers aren’t caught because of this carelessness…”</p><p>Jon frowned. He hadn’t thought about it that way, but his aunt was right, as usual. Jon didn’t much like the idea of spying work, but he had to admit that it was useful, and it would certainly be harder to do if everyone was put on their guard. Or if they simply fled across the sea to be with their Targaryen king, “I hope he won’t talk about it to anyone but me,” he muttered.</p><p>His aunt snorted again. “He might last a few days - a sennight, perhaps - but if it goes on longer, which it is likely to…I wouldn’t bet on it too much, Jon.” Her scowl deepened. “I wish I wasn’t so useless, that I could help with this in any way at all.”</p><p>“Should I try?” Sansa asked quietly, speaking aloud for the first time.</p><p>Jon frowned at her. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“People talk to me more than they talk to you,” she reminded them softly. “I might hear something.”</p><p>Aunt Barbrey frowned. “If you do, that would be useful, but Sansa, do not go out of your way to ask. I am already doing that, and if we both do, that increases the risk to all of us. Your best protection, as we have discussed many times, is looking silly and childish and letting people underestimate you.”</p><p>“Yes, Aunt,” Sansa said obediently.</p><p>“Good. Now off to bed with you both - Jon, accompany her up - you need to be fresh in the morning, Sansa,” her lip curled, “you have another ride with the prince.”</p><p>Jon grimaced, too, upon being reminded, and as he walked her up the stairs, he asked quietly: “Will you be well tomorrow, Sansa?”</p><p>She gave him a bland smile. “Of course,” she said. “I am looking forward tot he prince’s company.”</p><p>Jon blinked, before he realised the problem - they were outside in the corridors at night. It was dark around them, and absolutely anyone could be listening. Truly, Sansa had adapted to the necessities of King’s Landing much better than him, at least since her initial blunder when her mother made her angry. Jon suspected it was the guilt over that that helped her keep all the necessary precautions in mind.</p><p>“Alyssa will be accompanying us,” Sansa continued, “and I cannot wait to have her meet the prince properly.” Jon gave a small exhale of relief - Sansa not being the only highborn person there with Joffrey certainly made him feel better. “I will take her to meet with Princess Myrcella afterwards for embroidery,” Sansa added. “It will be a good day.”</p><p>Jon only nodded and pressed her hand as they reached the door to her rooms. He couldn’t do more at present, but he promised himself he would be available to her the following day, if she wished to talk.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, this marks my posting debt paid. From now on, I will make another attempt at updating once a week. We will see if it goes better than last time. Maybe I'm just doomed to the posting schedule of "dump a lot of chapters at once, then take a several months' break").</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Sansa III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sansa dines with the queen, and learns some disturbing things.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sansa’s days were growing more and more exhausting the longer she stayed in the capital.</p>
<p>Three days before, she had gone riding with Joffrey and Alyssa, which had been better than being alone with him exactly until Joffrey started being offensive towards Aly ad towards the Vale in general, speaking disparagingly about Jon Arryn and hi widow. Aly kept her composure admiringly, but it was clear she was astonished by this turn of the conversation. It was one thing to be presumptuous about his and Sansa’s future marriage. It was distasteful, for certain, but perhaps not very surprising. A heir to the throne had certain reasons to expect things would go his way. Even his dislike for Robb could perhaps be understood - they had not got along well in Winterfell. But what did he have aghast the Vale, and Aly, whom he had never truly spoken to before? Had he had some sort of conflict with Jon Arryn?</p>
<p>Sansa herself struggled much more to keep her composure when it was her closest friend, accompanying them, who was being offended, and the ride left them both exhausted in the end. It meant that whent hey met the princess for embroidery, they were too tired to make much conversation, which Sansa felt genuinely sorry about. The princess was a child, of course - Bran’s age - but still, when she was a little bit older Sansa felt she could be a good friend.</p>
<p>Valuable, too, if Sansa ended up married to Joffrey after all…until, that was, she herself was married off somewhere. But if there was one thing to be said for the Queen, it was that she loved her children dearly, and it was unlikely she would allow her daughter to be married too early.</p>
<p>Oh, if only Sansa had a mother like that at least.</p>
<p>The prince had given her a day to recover, then accompanied her to the godswood, where he proceeded to mok northern religion until Sansa’s hands were blooding from how hard she dug her fingers into her palms. Aunt Barbrey had fussed over her and repeated how they had to get out of the city as soon as possible, but they were still trapped here for almost a moon’s turn. It was no use.</p>
<p>And the prince wasn’t the only thing pressing on Sansa’s mind, of course. There was, naturally, her mother, but there was also the investigation into her father’s death.</p>
<p>Sansa did not know how she felt about knowing the Targaryens were behind it. It just seemed like something out of a story, though not the kind of story she liked. Targaryens were the villains her father fought in his youth, before they were all even born, and he defeated them. They were not supposed to come back years later to take their revenge, acting through some innocuous spies to kill Father in a brothel. Targaryens were dragons, and battlefields, not…this.</p>
<p>Sansa was glad to finally know, at least roughly, who was behind the attack - it was why they came south, after all, and so ti meant their work was done and they truly could leave after the prince’s name day - but still. There was just something wrong about it all.</p>
<p>And as if all this wa snot enough trouble, Sansa was to dine with the Queen tonight. </p>
<p>To say she did not look forward to it would have been a gross understatement. She found the King's company bad enough, but at least he'd genuinely loved her father. And he always invited Jon alongside her, and they had their wolves with them, meaning she felt safe. She'd be facing the Queen alone. She had eaten with her before, twice, but that was always in the presence of all the children. This was different. Sansa did not trust the queen, even less than she trusted anyone else in the capital. After all, she never forgot the warning against the Lannisters and the death of Jon Arryn. She knew well enough, by now, that the king and queen did not have a happy marriage. If there was a Lannister with a motive, it would be the queen.</p>
<p>There was also the fact that the queen knew what Sansa, in her anger, had said about Joffrey. Sansa could not help but feel the queen wished to punish her for that. There had been plenty of barbed comments over the past fortnight, about people who thought too well of themselves, who believed themselves better than the royal family and how they should be taught their lesson, but the queen had not truly done anything.</p>
<p>Aunt Barbrey had told her she should not worry, that she was ready for everything the queen could try to do, but Sansa could see her aunt herself was worried, as much as she was trying not to show it. But there was nothing for it, ready or not, and so she went. At least, she tried to assure herself, the queen would not physically harm her. She could not afford to do such a thing, what with the king’s favour being on their side, and Sansa being the sister of a Lord Paramount.</p>
<p>It was of limited consolation. Lady Catelyn had never physically harmed anyone in their life, and still Sansa had seen how much damage she could do with only a few sentences. She did not doubt the Queen could do even more.</p>
<p>The meal was not so bad to begin with, spending the first course in the usual vague pleasantries, discussing Sansa’s embroidery and Myrcella’s music lessons. But when the fowl came on the table, well, that was when the attack began. </p>
<p>The Queen talked of some courtier's trouble with a disgraced family member for a while, then gave a sigh and said. "Oh, it is always so difficult to have troublesome family. I have the Imp, of course, with his shameful whoring, and naturally you'd know everything about it as well." </p>
<p>Sansa assumed she was referring to Jon, and so she said evenly. "My natural born brother has at least never shamed us with his behaviour." </p>
<p>The Queen waved her hand. "Of course. I was referring to…but is it possible you don't know? You've been in the capital so long, I thought for sure that you…" </p>
<p>Sansa did her best to present a politely enquiring expression. "Yes?" </p>
<p>"Your mother, sweetling," the queen said with false delicacy. </p>
<p>Sansa did not have to fake her slight grimace. "My lady mother has her own set ideas," she said delicately. "What has she done to earn Your Grace’s ire?" </p>
<p>"Not ire, sweetling, merely pity for you and your siblings. I confess I'm at a loss now… I know little ladies like you are not supposed to hear about such things, but I do believe you have a right to it… Certainly the whole court is whispering about it…” There was a pause, much too short to be truly believable, then: “Do you not know about her… arrangement with Littlefinger?" </p>
<p>Sansa froze. " Your Grace means," she said then, very carefully, "that my mother has been having an affair?" </p>
<p>"I'm sorry, little dove," the queen said with an insincere smile. "I know this must be hard to hear." </p>
<p>There was ringing in Sansa’s ears, and the whole world seemed to be tilting and going blurry around her.</p>
<p>"Does Your Grace know when this affair started?" She asked, and she knew her voice sounded faint in spite of all her attempts to the contrary.</p>
<p>The queen gave a theatrical sigh. "Yes, that is the crux of the matter, is it not? I'm afraid it was as soon as your mother arrived in the capital… or, indeed, possibly even before." </p>
<p>Sansa frowned, and blinked, and her mind cleared a little as she thought about the probabilities and possibilities of that. "My mother never left the North at all,'" she managed after a moment. </p>
<p>"Oh, I do not mean physically,” the queen said with a laugh, apparently giving up on her paper-thin pretence of compassion. “But there are letters, you know." </p>
<p>Sansa thought of her mother's friendship with Maester Luwin, and realised that this, at least. was perfectly possible. She thought of all they’d discussed with Aunt Barbrey on the ship to King’s Landing. The ringing in her ears grew louder.</p>
<p>"You do know they loved each other when young, do you not?" The queen continued mercilessly.</p>
<p>Sansa had certainly not known any such thing, and managed to indicate as much with some effort.</p>
<p>"Oh yes, it was a very romantic tale,” the queen assured her. “Littlefinger challenged your uncle for your mother's hand. He lost, and your mother begged on her knees for Brandon Stark to let him live. He took pity on her, and here we are." </p>
<p>Was it possible? Could her mother, who always spoke of honour and duty, have carried on an affair - in spirit if not in body - the whole time she'd been married to her father? Could she have conspired to bring him south for that reason?</p>
<p>Suddenly Sansa thought again of her own theory from the ship, and looked at the queen with horror.</p>
<p>"Yes," the queen said with a nod in which the glee was entirely too visible through the mask of sadness. "I am afraid that it is likely true. I do not have any proof, you understand, or anything of the sort, but everyone is whispering about it. Who else would wish to kill such an honourable man as your father, a dear friend of the king?"</p>
<p>That was the last straw. Sansa’s vision went dark for a moment, and she gripped the table she was sitting at hard. "May I...may I be excused, Your Grace?"</p>
<p>"Of course, little dove,” the queen said, waving a hand graciously. “I am sorry to be the source of such upsetting news."</p>
<p>Sansa barely heard her as she walked out of the room in a daze and wandered into the corridor, where the kingsguard on duty, Ser Arys, gave her a worried look.</p>
<p>Lady was waiting for her two corridors away, at the door where she had left her with two nervous Stark guards, and Sansa sunk to the ground and embraced her wolf, heedless of anything else, to calm her mind for a brief moment before she rose again and left Maegor's Holdfast as fast as possible.</p>
<p>She almost ran to the Tower of the Hand, and literally barged into Aunt Barbrey's room. At the startled look she received, she simply blurted out: "I was right. Lady Stark did kill Father."</p>
<p>Aunt Barbey stared at her for a moment, then abruptly rose from her bed and went to look out into he corridor before she shut the door.</p>
<p>"Now come to me," she said in a low voice, "and whisper into my ear what you know."</p>
<p>Sansa, ashamed for losing her composure in such a way <i>again</i>, did as she was told.</p>
<p>When she was finished, Aunt Barbrey frowned. "I wonder…I very much wonder,” she said. “For one, why did the queen tell you this?"</p>
<p>"Does it matter, if it is true?" Sansa asked with a frown. She felt a little better now that she was with her aunt and she’d shared the burden with her, less like the world was slipping through her fingers, but she was still upset enough that she was reluctant to think of intrigue the way she was required to to parse that question.</p>
<p>"It always matters,” Aunt Barbrey reminded her in a softly chiding voice. “There might be further plots we don't know about. And of course, very likely it is not true at all."</p>
<p>Sansa did her best to consider that possibility, beyond the anger she felt at her mother. It seemed Aunt Barbrey thought it was not true because of the Targaryen explanation? But Sansa could not help feeling that Mother killing Father made so much more sense, horrible as it was. "The queen said everyone whispered about it," she remembered after a moment, "so it should not be difficult to verify."</p>
<p>"My sweet, they will hardly whisper about it in front of us, will they not?" Aunt Barbrey said dryly. "I can try asking Lord Tyrion, of course, but as the queen's brother, I'm not certain how much we can trust his answer."</p>
<p>"I will ask her," Sansa declared.</p>
<p>Aunt Barbrey gave her an alarmed look. "What?"</p>
<p>"I will ask my mother about it,” Sansa said more firmly. It had been a momentary idea, but the more she thought about it, the more she liked it. Her mother needed to be confronted about her crimes.</p>
<p>"Sansa, you cannot ask your mother if she killed your father,” Aunt Barbrey said patiently. “If she did, it would put you in danger as well.”</p>
<p>Sansa had not even considered that. But she’d come to King’s Landing to help her family, had she not? "I can ask her about Littlefinger at least," she retorted. "I can see how she reacts. I have to know."</p>
<p>Aunt Barbrey sighed. “There is some merit in that,” she admitted. “That art might well be true even if nothing else is. But wait for a few days, my sweet. Wait until you are a little calmer, so that you can truly observe her reaction, so that you are not too flooded with anger. If you spoke to her now, you would discover nothing at all.”</p>
<p>Sansa desperately did not wish to wait, but she made herself take a deep breath, and then another, and think about the matter properly. It was true what she’d thought: she was here to help her family. And acting rashly would help no one at all. She had done enough of that already, in her first conversation with her mother. So instead she sat, held Aunt Barbrey’s hands, tried to breathe evenly, and only when she felt she would not disgrace herself entirely gathered herself to take her leave.</p>
<p>“Remember,” her aunt said in parting, “it has only been a few days since we received the last news about the culprit behind the murder of your father, from a rather more trustworthy source - when it comes to wishing to catch you father’s killers, at least. It is most likely that this one is false.”</p>
<p>“Or it might be,” Sansa returned, this idea having slowly formed in her mind as she was trying to calm herself, “that my mother is working for the Targaryens. After all, have you not said that they would have needed a good ally in King’s Landing?” Sansa had been trying to find out who that could have been for days now. She had had no luck, and to think that her own mother…</p>
<p>Aunt Barbrey, however, frowned. “Remember that the plot started before your mother came south. There would have needed to be someone else as well, at least, to kill Jon Arryn. And whatever might be said for your mother, she is not the best person to arrange thugs in a brothel, though I admit she would have motive for that sort of revenge on your father.”</p>
<p>“Motive?” Sansa asked incredulously.</p>
<p>Aunt Barbrey sighed. “I am not saying she would have been right in it, but Sansa, she has always been angry at the inclusion of Jon. Bringing attention to women Ned might have lain with would no doubt seem a suitable retaliation to her. But she would have needed an ally for that, too. And besides…Lady Catelyn never truly cared for Brandon, but she certainly wished to marry him. I am not certain she would so eagerly join forces with those who took that chance from her and gave her a husband she despised instead.”</p>
<p>Sansa considered that. “It was a long time ago,” she pointed out. Why, it was before Sansa was even born! “The husband she despised might be more important to her than the loss of her betrothed.”</p>
<p>“It might be,” Aunt Barbrey conceded even as she looked like she disagreed. “It also might be that this is entirely invented by the queen to harm you. Remember, you believed she would do something of that sort?”</p>
<p>“She might have simply been harming me by telling the truth,” Sansa insisted.</p>
<p>“She might have. Or…she might believe she was,” Aunt Barbrey added slowly. “Didn’t the king tell Jon that his spies wish to keep the truth about the Targaryen plotters a secret for now? What if it was them who came up with this story, to cover the real one?”</p>
<p>Sansa’s head was beginning to pound. She had no strength for these complicated plots within plots now. “They might have,” she simply agreed tiredly, “but to do that, there’d have to be some truth to the adultery at least, would there not?”</p>
<p>With those words, she rose form her aunt’s bed and headed towards her rooms. Once she reached the door, however, she stared at it for a moment, then turned to Alyssa’s instead.</p>
<p>She couldn’t possibly tell her about the murder, but surely she could tell her about the adultery at least? It was not as if she worried about protecting her mother’s virtue.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>...I did warn you that this installment was hard on Cat, did I not? Next chapter is her POV, and yeah, it's not pleasant.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Catelyn III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sansa talks to Catelyn, and Catelyn talks to Petyr.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Catelyn refused to give up on her daughter in spite of everything, especially now that there was no one left who could stop her from spending time with her, and so she sat down to breakfast with her at least once a week, and dined with her just as often. The meals were usually tense and uncomfortable, and hardly any conversation was had. If Catelyn didn't want it to be filled entirely with empty pleasantries, it had to be her who spoke. </p>
<p>This time, however, once the first pleasantries were over, and they had both eaten a little, her daughter looked her in the eye and said: “Mother, I have a question for you.”</p>
<p>Catelyn felt a prickle of nervousness running down her spine, as a sort of premonition, but she told herself firmly not to be nonsensical and simply replied: “Ask what you wish, Sansa.”</p>
<p>And her daughter, still with that even, unrelenting look, asked: "What precisely is your relationship with Lord Baelish?" </p>
<p>Catelyn blinked. “We are friends,” she said slowly, “have been for a long time.”</p>
<p>“Only friends?” Sansa asked, a little archly, and Catelyn’s stomach twisted.</p>
<p>These kinds of vicious rumours were what she hated most about King’s Landing. It was disturbing and painful already to hear such things from seasoned courtiers, but from her twelve year old daughter…she had never wanted Sansa to sully her lips with such things. </p>
<p>And the fact that the vicious rumours she repeated were about her own mother only made it doubly repulsive.</p>
<p>So Catelyn pursed her lips, and said sharply: "That is an entirely inappropriate question.”</p>
<p>"Is it?" Her daughter returned, still with that poised archness she must have learnt at court already and that was so unnatural in such a young girl. "Or is it your relationship that's inappropriate?" </p>
<p>Now Catelyn was getting truly angry. "You dare to imply-" </p>
<p>"Yes, Mother, I dare,” Sansa said, tossing her head, and now a hint of the belligerency of youth appeared in her tone. It was, strangely, almost a relief. It was much easier to bear than that artificial poise. “If you've been sullying Father's name, I want to know."</p>
<p>"It was your Father who fathered a bastard and then paraded him for all the world to see,” Catelyn reminded her nevertheless, her tone sharpening even further, for whatever her private relief, Sansa still had to understand that speaking in this way was not acceptable. “It is a tradition which you continue, so I if anyone would be regarded as sullying the Stark name-"</p>
<p>"Oh yes, it always comes down to Jon, does it not?” Sansa asked, and now that poise was eroding faster, making it more obvious that Sansa seemed distraught and upset and angry. “Because your pride could never get over the fact that while away from you, in a war, after his father and brother just died, he sought comfort - perhaps even only once! - in the arms of a woman that wasn't you, and then had the decency to provide for his son, you had to punish him his whole life, and what's worse, punish Jon!"</p>
<p>"I was punishing your father?" Catelyn asked incredulously. What nonsense did that Dustin woman feed her children? "In what way, do you imagine, did I ever punish Lord Stark?" She wondered.</p>
<p>Sansa took a breath to calm herself, and in a somewhat more even tone, said: "The whole of Winterfell talked abut your cold heart.” Then she seemed to choke a little as she added: "And of course I know now, do I not, if it was Lord Baelish the whole time who-"</p>
<p>That notion again. Where did Sansa get it from? "Sansa, how- where have you heard such ridiculous slander?" She asked.</p>
<p>"Ridiculous, is it?” The belligerence was back. “So he had never fought a duel for your hand?"</p>
<p>That brought Catelyn up short. It seemed her daughter must have spoken to someone with some real knowledge, not just a few fanciful ideas, which, Catelyn knew very well, was much more dangerous. "He had," she admitted slowly, "but that had been a long time ago."</p>
<p>"And yet you remained close,” Sansa pointed out challengingly.</p>
<p>"Yes, Sansa, we did. We grew up together. As I have said, we are friends,” Catelyn replied evenly.</p>
<p>"Friends do not usually fight duels for each other's hands,” Sansa replied, now attempting sarcasm, but Catelyn could still sense real upset in her tone.</p>
<p>She gave a long, slow exhale. "Yes, Petyr was in love with me,” she conceded. She did not like airing his private feelings in this way, but she did not see another way out of it, and lying to her daughter would certainly not help. And maybe some honesty would help soothe her. “Perhaps still is. It does not matter." She frowned. "Unlike your father, I always took my marriage vows seriously. I would never betray them."</p>
<p>Sansa looked at her very intently for a moment. "Oh?” She said then. “And now that Father is dead?"</p>
<p>Catelyn immediately bristled. This was it, she thought in panic, this is what Petyr had warned me about. "Lady Dustin had an even worse influence on you than I thought,” she said angrily, “if you think asking that-"</p>
<p>"Do not bring Aunt Barbey into this!" Sansa reacted with equal anger.</p>
<p>Catelyn tried to calm herself, and a little more evenly, said: "That woman is not your aunt."</p>
<p>Sansa scoffed. "She is more my aunt than you ever were my mother."</p>
<p>That made Catelyn see red. "I carried you for nine months, I birthed you for twelve hours, I fed you from my own breast-"</p>
<p>"Yet all of that paled when you had to choose between that and your own pride, did it not?" And now Sansa was…was her voice bitter? Catelyn was too upset herself to properly determine the emotions behind her daughter’s accusation.</p>
<p>"What nonsense are you talking about now?" She asked.</p>
<p>"I know the story,” Sansa replied, and now Catelyn was more certain - yes, there was bitterness, and the anger and upset were back too. “I know how it came to be that you could no longer spend time alone with us. We both know that had you begged Father's forgiveness, if you'd changed your behaviour towards Jon then, he'd have relented and you could have had your children back. But no, you would never do that, would you?"</p>
<p>That brought Catelyn up short. "Sansa...are you blaming me for not being there for you?"</p>
<p>"No!” Sansa shouted - actually shouted, something Catelyn was not certain she had ever seen her well-behaved daughter do before. Then she took another slow, deep breath, and added spitefully: “I'm grateful, because that way I got a mother who was better than you could have ever been. I'm showing you your own hypocrisy. And I"m telling you that I know about you and Lord Baelish, so I will never believe another word you say ever again."</p>
<p>And with that, Sansa walked out of the room, leaving Catelyn, stunned, behind.</p>
<p>She did not understand her daughter, she did not understand the source of her terrible anger, and most of all, she did not understand these new accusations.</p>
<p>She needed, she decided, to talk to Petyr, to discuss with him what was happening.</p>
<p>Lysa had told her, in her last curt and unfriendly letter, that she was getting over-reliant on Petyr and that she should curb her time with him. But even if ahe agreed - and Catelyn was not certain she did - she could do nothing but speak to him in a situation like this.</p>
<p>It took him a while to arrive after she sent for him, which was a good thing, as it gave her a chance to settle a little, to calm herself and prepare to present to him what happened as rationally as possible. It also gave her time to consider Lysa’s warnings and its implications, and wonder in sudden horror if it could have been her sister who gave Sansa her idea. Not directly, of course - she did not believe Lysa would write to her daughter to tell her Catelyn was having an affair - but if she expressed the same concern about Cat spending too much time with Petyr, Sansa might have drawn her conclusions…and Lysa certainyl knew about the duel…</p>
<p>But no. Her sister would not do such a thing.</p>
<p>The mere idea didn’t  precisely help to calm Catelyn, though, and so the moment Petyr came in and saw her face, he knew something serious was going on.</p>
<p>"Cat," he said, clearly worried, "what's wrong?"</p>
<p>"I just spoke to Sansa," she replied hollowly.</p>
<p>"Oh, I'm sorry, I know that is always difficult for you,” he murmured compassionately, pressing her hand as he settled on a chair next to her.</p>
<p>"It was more so now than usual,” Catelyn replied with a sigh. “Petyr...she accused me of having an affair with you."</p>
<p>At that, Petyr looked immeasurably sad. "I'm sorry, Cat,” he said after a moment, “truly I am. I never wanted there to be any such rumours around you. If...if you decide that you wish to end our friendship over that, I will understand, I promise."</p>
<p>"No." She said immediately. "You stood by me like no one else ever had, Petyr, helped me in everything. I will not abandon you over some false accusations."</p>
<p>He smiled a little, but it was a sad smile. "Thank you, Cat. I am grateful, though you might still come to change your mind. Nevertheless...” he hesitated, then said: “Well, I would be careful."</p>
<p>"What do you mean?" With Lysa’s warning, that made too many people advising caution for Cat’s comfort.</p>
<p>"Do you remember the warning I gave you before Sansa came south?" Petyr asked.</p>
<p>Catelyn frowned. "I do. You think this is the first signs of this?"</p>
<p>"I am afraid I do,” he said with a sigh. “I am sorry - I promised you I would speak to Sansa, and I have not found a good opportunity yet, but I will now, you have my word. I will try to solve this for you without adding any more to your suffering. But until then…well.” He turned more fully in the chair and looked into her eyes, very serious, and said: “It is very important you keep trying to convince Sansa to agree to the betrothal, as I know you have been. She is still your daughter, after all, and even if she believes what she does about us, I cannot imagine she could ignore the benefits of it for long. She is clever, like you are. And Cat…I have been thinking about this. They have less than a moon’s turn left in the city. Once they leave…you know that the queen is trying to convince the king to give up the idea of the betrothal. If Lord Stark resists it any longer, the queen might well succeed in convincing the king, and then Sansa will lose this chance. She will depart North, and it is entirely possibly she will never come back south again. Unless you mean to return to Winterfell…”</p>
<p>Petyr did not need to finish the thought. He was right: if the betrothal fell through, she might never see her daughter again in her life, especially as it was very possible the Dustin woman would see her betrothed to someone like - Catelyn shuddered - an Umber. She would hardly be welcome to visit there, and the mere thought of her daughter marrying an Umber instead of the prince turned Catelyn’s stomach. Locked there in the North, in an even worse place than Catelyn had been…</p>
<p>“And it is not only about your personal loss,” Petyr continued. “The realm would lose by it as well.” He sighed, and quietly elaborated: “You know the prince can be…an impatient young man sometimes. Your daughter is a true young lady - except when she speaks to you, it seems, but still. She would be an excellent queen, as I am sure you know.”</p>
<p>“I do,” Catelyn confirmed. She had begun to doubt a little in the course of her arguments lately, but Petyr was right. Whatever the reason for Sansa’s increased hostility towards her, it didn’t seem to show anywhere else. She was just as perfect as always when they dined with the royal family. She would excel in the role of a queen, and more than simply ensuring her personal well-being in the future was at stake. Catelyn would simply have to press a little harder, use her maternal authority a little more. It did not matter, in the long term, if it led to more arguments between them. Once Sansa’s and the realm’s future were assured, they could make peace again.</p>
<p>Petyr was watching her intently as she thought, and she gave him a tired smile. "Petyr...I don't know what I’d do without you."</p>
<p>He returned the smile, gentle, so gentle, and took her hands in his. "You never have to find out, Cat. You never have to be without me again unless you wish to."</p>
<p>Catelyn tried to fight her tears, but she could not, and he was there to comfort her.</p>
<p>Later, after he left and she had some time to calm down, she thought again about who put the idea of the accusation in Sansa’s mind. Normally she would have assumed it was Lady Dustin, but she did not think the woman could know about the duel. Perhaps Brandon told her…? The thought was distasteful, and Catelyn shied away from it. Besides, if that had been the case Sansa would have known for years. This sounded very much like new information. </p>
<p>The Dustin woman could have heard it from someone at court, she supposed, but then again, Catelyn was paying attention. No one was truly speaking to her, to Catelyn’s private satisfaction.</p>
<p>And besides, it would still be important to know who told her. Catelyn kept Petyr’s lessons in mind enough to know this was a potential enemy she should be wary of.</p>
<p>So Catelyn invited Lady Chelsted to dine with her the following evening, and when the opportunity was right, asked delicately whether there were any unsavoury rumours about her and Petyr.</p>
<p>Lady Chelsted gave her a surprised look. “I…would not call them unsavoury. Many at court know of his…attachment to you, but it is equally widely known that it is one-sided. He is often pitied for it, I fear.  He…there were some rumours about your past, and I heard it told that he heard them when he was a little drunk once, and he got very wistful and said that he had never been so lucky. So even if people did not know that it was wholly one-sided before, they do know now.”</p>
<p>Catelyn’s heart hurt for him, and for a moment she felt almost guilty about being unable to marry him. </p>
<p>At any rate, this explained things very well. No doubt Lady Dustin had heard those stories, and chose to interpret them however suited her best.</p>
<p>This was another reason to have Sansa betrothed to Joffrey, truly: to have her removed from the Dustin woman’s influence.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The Starks need therapy. And mediation. “Sansa, how does that make you feel?”</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Tyrion IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tyrion presents Lady Dustin with an explanation of Lord Stark's death.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm editign faster than I expected, so the updates should be somethign like every two-three days for a while now at least.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tyrion’s investigation seemed to have hit a dead end.</p>
<p>He’d asked Alayaya for more details about Robert’s bastard baby born at their brothel and was told, unsurprisingly, that the girl was black-haired and blue-eyed. He had also managed to find someone who’d seen Edric Storm in person - someone who was not Renly Baratheon, as asking him would have been too suspicious by half - and get them drunk and have them confirm that yes, the boy was the very picture of Robert.</p>
<p>But that was, effectively, all he’d discovered in the last two weeks. He’d managed to get the smith boy out of town with the Night Watch, at least, and had written to Maester Aemon to notify him and ask about any developments on the Wall.</p>
<p>He’d received a reply just the day before, and it did not improve his spirits any, as it said:</p>
<p>
  <i>To the honourable Lord Tyrion:</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Thank you for your letter, I will do what I can. It seems we are to have an influx of boys with noble blood in the Watch these days. I hope the one you are sending will fare better than the one that is already here.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>We have had two more alarming reports from beyond the Wall, and the wildlings still seem gathered in the same place as when you were honouring us with your visit. Lord Commander worries. He has begun to send out larger scouting parties for security’s sake, but their effectiveness is naturally limited by this. We are uncertain here, and all the more nervous for it.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>My humble regards,</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Maester Aemon</i>
</p>
<p>Tyrion did his best not to think about the potential wights in the north. It was beyond the Wall, and nothing for him to concern himself with. He had wondered for a moment about what noble boy could have made his way to the Wall instead, before he realised it was likely some northerner. The families there, he understood, still sent their sons into the Night Watch. Just look at Benjen Stark.</p>
<p>Good thing it was no longer a broadly acceptable thing to do in the south, or Tywin would have no doubt tried it with Tyrion to get rid of him. His father had sent a letter too, a curt concession that implied Tyrion may continue his investigation, without, naturally, including a word of praise or even apology for the preceding threat. Tyrion wished he could say he was surprised.</p>
<p>As it was, neither letter cheered him, and with the king’s mercurial mood lately and with how his investigation was going, he was badly in need of some cheering. Part of the problem, of course, was that he did not know where to focus next. Arryn and Stannis had been going around looking at Robert’s bastards, yes. But they were both gone now, in different ways, and their households had left for the Eyrie and Dragonstone respectively. There was no one left in King’s Landing who could tell him their reasons. There was plenty left of the Stark household, but as Stark himself had not known what he was looking for, that was no help at all. He could, of course, make up some excuse to go to Dragonstone and try speaking to Stannis, but that would draw far too much attention and thus expose him to risk with no certainty that Stannis would even deign to speak to him. The man despised him.</p>
<p>So he was frustrated, but in spite of being curious about the mystery now, Tyrion kept firmly in mind that his reason for investigating it was not actual discovery of the truth of the Hands’ murder. He was, instead, trying to keep himself informed about the very intriguing magical developments in the North, and to that end, he did not need to make an actual discovery. He simply needed to claim he did.</p>
<p>He did not have much truth to give Lady Dustin, and yet he did need to give her something at least after she’d been in the capital more than a moon’s turn. He didn't want her to become impatient or decide that his promise of help had been a lie. That, he knew perfectly well, would be even worse than never offering in the first place, and would certainly ensure he would never hear a further word about the warging children. And so he arranged for another ride with her, and made his plans. </p>
<p>It was usually efficient to stay as close to the truth as possible when coming up with lies, and so once they were safely alone with their guards riding at a distance, he said: "My lady, I believe I won't shock you if I say I've discovered a plot." </p>
<p>"I think the appropriate answer in this place is 'which one?'" She replied dryly. </p>
<p>"I should hope the most serious one,” he replied archly. “If we have many more like this, the realm is certainly doomed." </p>
<p>"From what I hear, it's doomed anyway." </p>
<p>That, sadly, was true enough, but not what he wanted to talk about. "There's someone in this place, I haven't discovered who, that wants to sit one of Robert's bastards on the throne instead of his legitimate children," he announced bluntly instead, in a very low voice. The last thing he needed was to actually give someone this idea. Not that he would blame them - Joffrey was a little horror - but it would hardly benefit his family.</p>
<p>Lady Dustin arched her brow, then gave a barking laugh. "Can't say I blame them, when I look at the boys,” she said, echoing his thoughts.</p>
<p>Tyrion sighed. Honesty was definitely the way forward here, at least partial honesty. "Not that I disagree, my lady, but they're still my nephews, and we both know they wouldn't be allowed to live out the rest of their days peacefully if the plot succeeded. Surely you agree that Tommen, at least, is a sweet boy who doesn't deserve that." </p>
<p>She grew grimmer. " Yes. And more to the point, you seem to believe the person behind this plot killed Ned? "</p>
<p>"I do,” Tyrion agreed easily, ignoring the slight pricking of his conscience with long practice. And who knew, he might even turn out to be right after all. Certainly whoever discovered Cersei’s children were illegitimate would likely prefer Robert’s natural born son to sit the throne than one that was not his at all. “And Lord Arryn as well,” he added. “He discovered it first, and went looking around at the King's bastards - to find out which was the purported next king, I assume." </p>
<p>"Did you find out?" </p>
<p>"No,” Tyrion replied with a shake of his head. There was no need to invent that lie and endanger a specific child. “Lord Arryn, and Lord Stark after him, went to see two of them that I know of. One is a girl and was a newborn when Lord Arryn saw her, so I assume it was to make certain of the gender. The other seems to have been the oldest boy, so technically the one with the most right. He's a smiths apprentice, and I'm not sure he's suited, but he does look exactly like Robert, and that's always helpful. "</p>
<p>Admitting that was a gamble, of course, but Tyrion counted on Lady Dustin's experience with Jon Snow and Stark's trueborn children to lead her astray in this, and it seemed he was right to, judging by her slight grimace. It had to be even more in her mind these days, with the way Robert treated Jon Snow as Ned Stark come again. The entire court was whispering about it, speculating that the king was losing his wits and unable to differentiate between the noble father and his bastard son. They could find no other explanation for the favour the king bestowed on the boy. The Starks could have made great use of that, but instead, they seemed collectively unnerved, and Tyrion didn’t doubt that his mention of the smith boy’s looks brought it all to the forefront of Lady Dustin’s mind.</p>
<p>"There's Edric Storm, of course," he went on, "the only highborn bastard, but he's a boy still. He'd be the most acceptable though, probably, and only a year younger than Joffrey. If I should place a bet, it'd be on him." It was true enough, and the boy was safe in Storm’s End. There was no harm in Tyrion saying as much.</p>
<p>She mulled over the information for a moment, then asked: "And any bets on who the plotter is?" </p>
<p>"Clearly an enemy of House Lannister,” Tyrion said unequivocally, because establishing the common ground between them was, after all, the main goal of what he was doing. “They have to approve of the Baratheons at the same time, though, and that's where the difficulty comes. Dorne hates us, certainly, but they hate Robert just the same. The Starks would be the most obvious candidate, if not for Lord Stark dying in this plot. As it stands, I'm without ideas now, but you have my word that I will continue looking. "</p>
<p>She simply nodded to that, and there was some silence. He allowed her her time to think, assuming that she was sifting through what she knew and matching it to what he had told her. He could only hope that she didn’t have some secret information that would contradict his theory. He had gone minimalist enough, inventing a single thing, a single motivation, it seemed impossible she would be able to contradict without knowing the true reason Arryn and Stannis were investigating the bastards - and if she had known that, he had little doubt the king would have as well, as that would have been the most efficient means of revenge - but still, there was some leftover worry in the back of his mind as he watched her think.</p>
<p>She seemed to be satisfied with what he told her, however, or as satisfied as one could be when it came to explaining the death of a friend, and so once they turned their horses back towards the city, he ventured to say: “I do not wish to seem too insistent, and I understand you are preoccupied by what I’ve told you, but you did give me a most tantalising tidbit of information regarding little Lord Bran last time…"</p>
<p>Lady Dustin smiled at that, drawn from her thoughts. "I did, didn't I? Well, it does so happen that I do have some news."</p>
<p>And she proceeded to tell him of little Bran's warging his wolf during the day, at whatever distance he chose.</p>
<p>"It is disquieting," she admitted to him. "He looks dead, almost, when his mind is not in his body, and it'd be even worse, I imagine, if I couldn't see the wolf right next to him, looking at me with Bran's eyes."</p>
<p>"So the wolf looks different to you?" Tyrion was fascinated. To him, it had seen like a regular beast.</p>
<p>"Well, it is not as if it eyes change colour or something so dramatic. But still, there is just something different about them, and about the wolf's behaviour, and you simply know it is not only an animal at that moment."</p>
<p>He supposed he would have to take her word for it. It was strange, in a way, hearing about this now. It had been months since his stay in the North, and sometimes it felt like it had all been a dream, and yet he could still perfectly recall the children describing things hey had had no way of seeing. He did not remember that wrong, he knew, but somehow he still found it difficult to credit what Lady Dustin was telling him.</p>
<p>"And Jon Snow?" He asked then. "Have his abilities suffered by being in the capital?" Could one even perform this kind of northern magic when outside the North?</p>
<p>"I do not believe so," she replied. "He still has the dreams, I know, but I do not think he proceeded beyond that."</p>
<p>So his abilities were not stopped, then, but might have been stunted. Tyrion imagined the quiet white wolf prowling the halls of the Red Keep with the bastard’s mind behind its eyes and shuddered a little. Good thing the beast was kept locked up at night.</p>
<p>He thought about what else he wished to know. "And Bran's dreams about the three-eyed crow, have they changed in any way?"</p>
<p>"There has been some...help," Lady Dustin said carefully after a small hesitation. "Someone arrived at Winterfell driven by their own dreams, to assist Bran with his skills and his dreams. I have not heard of any particular results yet, but they will come, I trust that much."</p>
<p>Tyrion nodded, and restrained his urge to pry and find out who this mysterious helper was. Likely some northern witch from the woods - and he could not believe he was considering an existence of such a person an actual possibility. Still, embarrassment over that would explain Lady Dustin’s reluctance to share the information quite well. Who wanted to boast that they let a woods witch into their home?</p>
<p>"Have you discovered anything about these abilities in the books here?" Lady Dustin asked him in turn.</p>
<p>"No, but then I confess I have been preoccupied by investigating the death of Lord Stark,” Tyrion admitted easily. “Still, there has always been only a small chance of finding anything here."</p>
<p>She simply nodded in acceptance, and they finished the ride in silence.</p>
<p>Tyrion felt vaguely dirty afterwards, which was ridiculous - it was hardly the first time he'd lied to anyone, and it would not be the last. Still, Lady Dustin had presumably been honest with him about the children's progress, and he disliked that he couldn't give he the same honesty in return.</p>
<p>At least he could report his success to Cersei, he supposed, an so he went in search of her.</p>
<p>She was sitting with Myrcella, who smiled upon seeing him, whereas Cersei, predictably, frowned. "What do you want?" She asked.</p>
<p>"Why, only to calm your fretting, sister," he replied, walking over to have a drink of her wine. "I spoke to Lady Dustin, and told her such a tale of dramatic intrigue in this city than I am sure that her eyes will only look in very deserving directions for the culprit of her beloved Eddard's death."</p>
<p>Cersei curled her lip. "That was entirely unnecessary. I already spoke to little Sansa and planted my own idea in her mind."</p>
<p>"And you couldn't have told me?" Tyrion asked incredulously. "Our implications no doubt contradict each other-"</p>
<p>"If neither points towards us, what does it matter?"</p>
<p>Tyrion stared at her. "You do not think they will find it a little suspicious that all the Lannisters are so eager to point them away from us? All that's left is having Jaime plant a third story!"</p>
<p>Cersei scoffed. “What do they know about politics? They will get hopelessly tangled in it, and go back home none the wiser. That’s all I need.”</p>
<p>Tyrion drained the cup and left, knowing that if he argued with her know, he would tell her how idiotic he found her, and that would not go well for him. He still needed her cooperation, after all - and admittedly, part of his frustration was that she no doubt felt she did not owe him anything now.</p>
<p>Ah, no matter. He would think of another favour to do for her, and for now, he would get drunk to forget the bad taste in his mouth.</p>
<p>He did just that, and woke in the morning with a hangover to find Varys waiting for him.</p>
<p>“My lord Tyrion,” the eunuch said, unsmiling, as Tyrion fought the panic he felt at the unexpected company. “I hear you have been telling interesting stories to Lady Dustin. Do you have time for a little chat?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Bran III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bran trains warging and goes for a ride.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bran opened his eyes and smiled.</p>
<p>He‘d been getting steadily better, and now had no trouble slipping into Summer’s skin and back again, for however long he wanted, at whatever distance. Jojen was usually with him, to let him know when it was too long and he was needed for something else, but sometimes Bran slipped away on his own, like in the evenings when he was in bed but not sleepy yet, and Summer gave him a way to explore without anyone being the wiser. Sometimes he slipped from conscious waging directly into his wolf dreams. He liked those nights best, though Jojen told him it was dangerous because he was less in control. But Bran didn’t feel not in control. He felt fine.</p>
<p>His eyes open, he threw a curious look at the sky, at the mysterious comet that had appeared a few days ago. Maester Luwin said that it didn’t mean anything, that these things just happened, but Aunt Barbrey always said not to trust the Maester too much, and Jojen said it was a sign, so Bran thought he should trust Jojen more.</p>
<p>Not that Jojen knew much about it. When Bran had asked, he talked about fire and blood and dragons and the Long Night, but none of that seemed to make any sense to Bran. But then, Jojen was often like that, and Meera admitted that the things he saw in dreams sometimes only made sense when he looked back on them. That didn’t seem very useful to Bran.</p>
<p>He liked the comet, anyway. It was interesting. He had never seen anything like that before. Men were mumbling about it, too, he heard them around Winterfell. White raven had come from the Citadel a day ago, announcing autumn. Winter was coming in truth now. Some were saying the comet meant it would be especially long, some that it would be especially short. Bran would definitely prefer short. He didn’t like Old Nan calling him a sweet summer child – he was hardly a child, he was almost a man grown, and she made it sound like growing up in summer made him more of a child than he would be otherwise – but it was the truth. For all that he was a Stark of Winterfell, he had never known winter, and from what he’d heard, it didn’t sound pleasant at all.</p>
<p>He didn't like thinking of that, though, and so he turned his attention back to Jojen.</p>
<p>"I think," his friend said, "that you are ready to try something else.”</p>
<p>“Something else?” Bran asked in surprise. What else was there, except for flying, and Bran thought he needed the three-eyed crow for that?</p>
<p>“Some skinchangers can only warg one animal,” Jojen explained, “but strong ones, like you, can do more. You should try to slip into a skin of something that isn’t Summer.”</p>
<p>“You mean like Grey Wind, for example?” He didn’t like the idea.</p>
<p>Jojen grimaced. “No. All of our stories say that once an animal belongs with one skinchanger, another should never try to take it. You will have to try something else.”</p>
<p>Bran thought about that, and considered the possibilities. “Some of the dogs, maybe?”</p>
<p>Jojen nodded. “That seems like a good idea – dogs are probably the most like wolves you can find, so it should be easier.”</p>
<p>Eager and curious now, Bran got up, sent Summer away and headed to the kennels, Jojen trailing behind him. Bran used to spend much time there with the dogs, but not since he got Summer. The dogs were afraid of him, and Bran found little interest in dogs when he had a direwolf of his own.</p>
<p>It hadn’t been so long that he didn’t remember the animals, though, or they him. When he entered, they welcomed him with happy barking and tails wagging, and Bran scratched all of their heads even though he could also see that the smell of Summer on him was making them nervous when he came closer.</p>
<p>“Which should I pick?” He asked Jojen.</p>
<p>“Which do you know best?” Jojen returned, and really, that was probably a good point, given how well Bran knew Summer, and so he went to one of the older dogs there, one he remembered playing with already when he was very little. “Hello, Biter,” he said, scratching behind its ears.</p>
<p>“Its name is Biter?” Jojen asked incredulously.</p>
<p>Bran could understand why – he was old and looked entirely harmless now. “He was quite wild when he was young, the kennelmaster told me,” he explained, and squatted in front of the dog. He looked into his eyes, trying to slip into its mind as easily as he did it with Summer, but...nothign was happening.</p>
<p>He tried again and again, with no success or even change, and he was growing more and more frustrated. When he felt like he had been sitting there for an hour, useless, he turned to Jojen with a scowl. “It’s not working.”</p>
<p>“Well, it took you a long while with Summer too, didn’t it?” Jojen asked.</p>
<p>Bran nodded a little grudgingly. “I thought it would go faster with my second attempt,” he explained. “I hope I won’t need the crow to come and peck at my forehead again,” he added then, grimacing. He was thankful for the help, but it hadn’t been exactly pleasant.</p>
<p>“You shouldn’t,” Jojen reassured him. “But maybe try coming here for a bit every day?”</p>
<p>Bran promised that he would. He hoped it would not take as long as learning to do it with Summer, really. Bran hadn’t been impatient then only because he hadn’t known what was happening, but it had taken months! He didn’t want it to take months this time.</p>
<p>There seemed to be nothing much more they could do at this point, however, so they headed back out of the kennels. Out in the courtyard, Summer was waiting for them, wrestling playfully with Grey Wind while Robb and Wynafryd stood by their side, watching. Robb had a fond expression on his face, but Wynafryd’s was more unreadable, and Bran thought, once again, of the conversation with Lady Leona he’d overheard.</p>
<p>Still, he reminded himself, he’d decided he could trust Wynafryd. And not even following Lady Leona around for a fortnight led him to discover something truly sinister - the worst he ever heard was her speaking sharply to servants a few times, in a way that reminded Bran of his mother. On one hand, he was frustrated that he had nothing to bring to Robb to prove he was worthy of being his spymaster, but on the other, he was glad that Robb’s good mother wasn’t as bad as she had seemed to Bran after he listened to that conversation.</p>
<p>“Here you are, Bran,” Robb said when he noticed him, looking up from the wolves. “We have been looking for you. Wynafryd thought it would be nice if the three of us could go for a ride, with just a few guards for security.”</p>
<p>Bran immediately agreed, eager. It had been a long time since Robb had had time to go riding with him. Jojen left them, understanding he was not wanted in that moment, and Bran hurried to the stables and through saddling and preparing his horse. He even forgot to be irritated that the horse he was riding outside of Winterfell was so old and tired and slow, because Robb and everyone else insisted that it was the safest for him, and that until he was very good at controlling more spirited horses inside of Winterfell’s walls, old Snowflake was the only one he was allowed outside, where there was danger of the horse getting spooked by something and running far away. “Snowflake would not run anywhere,” Robb had said with amusement, “and even if she did, we would catch her!”</p>
<p>So riding on Snowflake it was, but at least it was riding with Robb! And no longer on a pony, which was a recent change, too, and one he was very glad of.</p>
<p>They trotted out of the main gate three abreast, and Bran was smiling wildly.</p>
<p>Wynafryd, he could see as soon as they cleared the walls, was a good rider, and she rode astride, too, not like the southern ladies he’d heard about from Aunt Barbrey, who sat with both legs over one side of the horse and so were always in danger of slipping off.</p>
<p>Robb suggested a race, and Bran scowled because of how slow Snowflake was, but it was still better than the pony, so he agreed and did his best. Snowflake refused to be spurred into anything faster than a slow canter, but it still left Bran exhilarated as they reached the edges of the wolfswoof.</p>
<p>“Who knew the old girl could still go that fast!” Robb said with a laugh. “But now you should really let her rest. Let’s dismount here for a while and let the horses graze.”</p>
<p>There was a smattering of snow on the ground out in the open, but in the forest it was protected, and this close to the edges, there were still tufts of grass the horses could actually eat, unlike inside, where it was all covered with pines and moss. So Bran obligingly dismounted and settled himself on the cloak Robb spread on the ground, Wynafryd on his other side, as the guards kept a wide perimeter around them.</p>
<p>“So tell me, Bran, how have your studies been progressing?” Robb asked him once they were settled and Wynafryd pulled some dried apples out of the pouch at her waist to share around.</p>
<p>Bran really wanted to tell Robb about what Jojen had said that day, but knew he could not speak in front of Wynafryd, so he cast her a look and said vaguely: “Good…Maester Luwin hasn’t chastised me too strictly for a while, and Ser Rodrick says I’m improving steadily! And, um, Jojen has been very helpful.”</p>
<p>Robb nodded. “I’m glad to hear that.”</p>
<p>“I am happy to have his sister here,” Wynafryd interjected. “I have my mother, of course, but after Sansa and her ladies left, it’s good to have another girl my age.”</p>
<p>Bran giggled, he couldn’t help it. “And do you have much in common with Meera?”</p>
<p>Wynafryd smiled. “No,” she admitted easily, “but that gives me all the more opportunity to learn! It is strange, after all - the Reeds are House Manderly’s closest neighbours, alongside the Hornwoods and the Lockes, and Wylla and Meera are almost of an age, and yet we never knew her! I am grateful to have a chance to remedy it in Winterfell, at least.”</p>
<p>Robb smiled at her. “You will be Lady Stark, and you already sit in on most of my councils. You should know all of our bannermen.”</p>
<p>Wynafryd returned the smile. “I have already met most of the lords with my grandfather,” she said then, “but it is, of course, different to know them as the future Lady of the North…”</p>
<p>Robb then began to tell her and Bran both things about the different families of the north, and while Bran tried to listen - he knew these things were important, after all - his attention soon began to drift as he looked around the forest, glad to be outside of Winterfell for once. Summer and Grey Wind were running somewhere far among the trees, and Bran made sure to turn so that Wynafryd couldn’t see his eyes and then slipped into Summer’s mind for a moment to enjoy it before he returned to himself and watched the horses grazing, and then began to look for smaller forest animals. Most would have hidden on their approach, he knew, and especially with the wolves there they would be too afraid to come out, but he hoped there would still be something.</p>
<p>He was a little astonished when, after a while of looking, he found a mouse.</p>
<p>He was more used to seeing them around Winterfell than out in the wild, but he supposed they had to come from somewhere. He watched it try to burrow into the cold ground and thought about how cute it looked, and how, strangely enough, it reminded him of Summer as a very small puppy.</p>
<p>That, in turn, led him to another thought, and when the mouse turned its head and could see its eyes, he slipped into its mind.</p>
<p>It was only for a moment, as like his first time with Summer, he had startled himself out of it, but still, he had definitely done it.</p>
<p>A mouse might not be as impressive as a direwolf or a dog, but it was still another animal he had warged, and Bran could not wait to tell Jojen. He definitely heard nothing of the rest of Robb’s lecture, and could only hope no one noticed his distraction.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Wyn: “oh robb please tell me more about the northern lords, as the until-recently-second-in-line to White Harbour I absolutely know nothing at all about northern politics.”</p>
<p>We have medieval paintings of women riding both astride and side-saddle, so it felt fitting to me that in the North they’d ride astride, while riding south-saddle would be more of a southern fashion, especially in the Reach. (The Dornish women, of course, would laugh at you if you as much as suggested it.)</p>
<p>And Jojen is a bit more helpful than in canon because Bloodraven doesn’t have to spend all the dreams he’s sending him frantically trying to make sure Bran is saved from the Greyjoys and the Boltons…</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Barbrey III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Barbrey muses about what she's learnt, and speaks to Littlefinger.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>A mere fortnight ago, Barbrey had had no idea who could have been behind Ned’s death, and was near-ready to give up the whole venture as futile.</p><p>Now she had three separate theories to chose from.</p><p>She supposed one of them, at least, had to be true, but somehow, having to chose which one made her feel only marginally better than having no idea at all.</p><p>She was most inclined to believe Lord Tyrion’s explanation, but was held back by the fear that it was her personal sympathies towards him, as opposed to the king or the queen, that led her in that direction. Still, though, Lord Tyrion’s theory had one significant advantage: it was the only one that explained the one fact they knew for certain about Ned’s death, that he had died in a brothel while following Jon Arryn’s and Lord Stannis’ footsteps there. </p><p>Barbrey could not imagine why the Tully woman, who had access to Ned day and night as his wife, would have chosen this way of killing him. For one, there was the question of why wait so long if she meant to kill him in the first place - had she done it eight years ago, she might have kept much more of a position in the North than she had. There was also the method. Yes, it included humiliation for Ned, which she would have presumably wanted, but it also increased risk for her. She would have had to hire three brutes to do the job, and a woman like her could have hardly have done that unobserved, so she would have needed an intermediary for that. She supposed Littlefinger could have taken care of that, if they were co-conspirators, but he seemed like the sort that would encourage her to use more discreet methods. If someone told her Arryn had been killed by his wife, well, she could believe that easily. Poison was a weapon made for wives murdering their husbands. But this way of death? It seemed the increased risk it would have taken for the Tully woman to arrange it would have not been worth the humiliation of it.</p><p>As for the Targaryens, the problem there was a different one. As she had already discussed with the children, they would need a source very close to Ned to be able to not simply follow him to the brothel, but to have the people be waiting there for him beforehand. If they simply meant to kill him, and did not mind the three brutes who did the deed being sacrificed, then there would have been other, easier opportunities.</p><p>If, in other other hand, the brutes were sent by someone who kept watch on the king’s bastards, and they were waiting in the brothel just in case Ned showed up…well, that made everything much easier, did it not? </p><p>Barbrey was also reassured by Lord Tyrion’s explanation not agreeing with his sister. It made it much less likely he was part of some all-encompassing Lannister plot.</p><p>At the same time, the missing Lannister involvement was what was still bothering her. The Tully woman could have simply lied, of course, but what about Varys? Had he truly been mistaken? Or was he part of the bastard plot, and had it been a diversion on his part? What interest would a king’s spy have in putting a bastard on the throne?</p><p>And then there was the problem of Lord Tyrion not actually knowing who was behind the bastard plot. Without having a guilty party to point to, their mission in the south would appear a failure, and Robb could not afford that. Barbrey had thought about it, and her best idea was Lord Renly – he at least would gain something from the Lannisters’ downfall, but why try and place a bastard on the throne? Why not simply try and make himself heir? True, there was still Lord Stannis in the line of succession above him, but from what she had gathered, he was extremely unpopular and should something happen to Robert, Lord Renly would likely not have too hard a time removing his older brother in favour of himself.</p><p>And another problem, too: the king believed the Targaryen explanation, firmly enough, from what Jon said, that he was unlikely to be convinced otherwise. Barbrey could understand it, on some level. For her, too, the idea that the Targaryens were guilty was satisfying. They had killed Brandon, after all. Would it not make sense if they were behind Ned’s death as well?</p><p>Perhaps, if Lord Tyrion had never spoken to her, she would have been convinced. Perhaps she would have believed Sansa’s theory, that the Tully woman was working with the Targaryens. At least, Barbrey thought in bitter amusement, there was no chance she was involved in the bastard plot; that woman would never plot to put a bastard on the throne. She’d rather see the whole kingdom burn down than do that.</p><p>But, in any case, Barbrey did hear Lord Tyrion’s theory, and it was simply, in all ways, a better, more fitting explanation, for all that it complicated matters, with its lack of guilty parties and, again, the fact that the king believed something else.</p><p>As Barbrey pondered that, she suddenly realised that if they did not manage to find the ones responsible for the bastard plot, this could be Robb’s salvation: the official explanation of a Targaryen plot, which would no doubt be followed by arrests and executions, would go over well in the North as well. They, too, remembered the war. They would be satisfied with whatever vengeance Robert prepared, because it would no doubt be bloody. </p><p>Barbrey still wished to take revenge on the actual killers, but if that proved impossible, then she could at least ensure Robb’s safety.</p><p>But she had not given up entirely quite yet, and there were too many points of uncertainty still for her to feel confident in any conclusions. She need to somewhat reduce them, at least, and to that end decided to meet with Lord Baelish.</p><p>It was never pleasant. His association with the Tully woman made him distasteful. He was often to be encountered in the Tower of the Hand, and every time he gave her one of his slippery smiles, Barbrey felt as if she should take a bath.</p><p>But even if she discounted the murder accusation entirely, it was still worthwhile to know if they were lovers or not. She wouldn’t put it entirely past the Tully woman. If not when Ned was still alive – she had too high an opinion of herself to easily agree to adultery, after all – then afterwards, it seemed entirely plausible. Of course, if the affair only started afterwards it was hardly anything anyone could blame her for – to be honest, Barbrey wouldn’t have particularly blamed her even if she had committed adultery, except that she was always so full of moral superiority – but she could hardly say so much to Sansa. It was natural the children idolised their dead father and detested the idea of any disloyalty towards him, and so she let it be for now. She would have more time to talk it over with Sansa once they returned North. </p><p>Barbrey was hoping for some hint of some sort from Littlefinger, but she’d had little luck finding him in the sennight since Sansa had her dinner with the queen. Today, finally, her luck changed, and at her blunt invitation they took a walk on the walls together. It wasn’t as good as a ride, but suddenly asking Lord Baelish on a ride would certainly arouse suspicious, and for a short conversation, the walls were good enough. There was nowhere for anyone to hide, and they could see people approaching them from a distance.</p><p>“Lady Sansa had a most fascinating conversation with the Queen recently,” Barbrey said as soon as they were out of anyone else’s hearing.</p><p>“Indeed?” Lord Baelish asked placidly.</p><p>“Yes.” Barbrey didn’t bother mincing words, as she knew perfectly well she would not win a word game with someone who’d lived in the capital for so long. “It concerned you, and your excessive familiarity with Sansa’s mother.”</p><p>Littlefinger smiled his sleaziest smile. “That rather depends, I believe, on what you consider excessive.”</p><p>Barbrey’s eyebrows climbed into her hairline. For all that she had decided not to mince her words, she had fully expected him to try and prevaricate. “Is that an actual confession, my lord?”</p><p>“Why, whatever do you mean, my lady?” He asked with faux innocence that was so overplayed it made it obvious he did not mean to be believed. “I had no notion we were speaking of some crime that would require me to confess.”</p><p>“We might not have been until now,” Barbrey said grimly, “but the Queen made other insinuations. About the role Lady Catelyn played in Lord Stark’s death, and about you being the chief motive.”</p><p>That made him burst out laughing. “The Queen,” he said, “should learn to wear her jealousy better.”</p><p>That threw Barbrey. “What do you mean?”</p><p>“She prides herself on being the most beautiful woman in Westeros. Cat’s return to the South proves her wrong in this, and she does not take it well,” Littlefinger simply answered. Barbrey shot him a brief look. He really was in love with the Tully woman, wasn’t he? As if hearing her thoughts, he continued: “Yes, I love Cat – that is no secret. All the kingdoms know, after my ill-conceived duel with Lord Brandon. I rather hoped I’d have your sympathy in this, of all people.”</p><p>Barbrey hated to admit it, but he did. She’d thought many times since she’d found out about it that if she’d been allowed to marry Brandon and he Lady Catelyn, everyone would have been so much happier. And they were both equally repulsive, though in different ways, so she was sure they could have made each other happy.</p><p>Well, perhaps half of it would still come to pass. It would upset the children, no doubt, but might be the best thing in the long term. In her musings in the last week, she had been, at times, furious for the Tully woman not doing like Lyanna had and running away with her suitor. There might have been no war then, even, and it would have certainly kept her firmly out of the North. That second benefit would still be achieved by such a marriage even now.</p><p>However, aloud, she said: “Sympathy or no, she is still the mother of the children that are like my own to me.”</p><p>He shrugged. “Precisely. They are more yours than they’ve been Cat’s for a long time, and believe me, she knows. I do not see why you insist on her staying attached to her Stark allegiance. It’s not as if either you or the children appreciate it or care for it.”</p><p>“If you’d seen her in the North-”</p><p>He waved his hand. “I’m not blaming you, my dear lady. I might love Cat, but it doesn’t mean I’m blind to her faults. She always took the duty and honour parts of the Tully words to heart more than the ‘family’ part. But then, we each have our failings, do we not? And I dare say we balance each other out well that way.”</p><p>What could she say to that? It was not as if she herself was without fault, or Brandon had been, for that matter. It was as she had just been thinking: if it was no more than an affair, she could blame neither of them, as much as she personally disliked his manner. And his frankness about the whole thing made her seriously doubt he would be involved in any assassination plot, but she still could not help but ask: “Are you certain she had no hand in Lord Stark’s death, then?”</p><p>He shrugged. “I can be certain of nothing. Cat is not a violent person, but she might have felt she had been pushed to extremes – after all, she was forced to live without friends for fifteen years. I cannot guarantee she didn’t snap at some point. And I do not know everything about her private life – Lord Stark might have done something to push her over the edge. But tell me something else, Lady Dustin: even if she did have him killed, what would you do? Would you accuse her in front of the king? I gathered you care for her children. Would you have them live with the shadow of being the offspring of a murderess? Are you certain your northern lords would not rise up against the new Lord Stark if they found out his mother killed their beloved Lord Eddard? Especially as, from what I can understand, all of her children look like her. Will they not be accused of illegitimacy, then? Of being mine? Will they not be killed by their own bannermen? Will you look on, to see the bastard boy put in their place in Winterfell?”</p><p>Barbrey felt a flash of intense hatred for him – because, she realised as soon as he began to speak of it, he was right. Barbrey could see Roose’s face before her, how eagerly he would seize the opportunity, though certainly not to put Jon on the northern throne. No, he would stir the chaos, she knew, and use it to get as much for himself as he could, and all the Umbers and Karstarks would help him with it. The Manderlys would be on their side, but in this their southernness would become a true weakness. The Tully woman’s frequent trips to White Harbour would be brought up, it would be said that she used it as a place to meet Littlefinger, that the Manderlys were complicit in the deception...the whole North would burn.</p><p>The other alternative was letting a woman who might have killed Ned possibly go unpunished. A woman, too, who was certainly not some poor innocent pushed to the extreme. Just in the last week, she had been putting so much pressure on Sansa to agree to the betrothal with the Prince that the girl had broken down in Barbrey’s arms several times. She had stopped greeting Barbrey entirely, in spite of her being owed respect as one of her son’s bannermen, and when Barbrey had gone to her to argue on Sansa’s behalf, threatened to have her removed from her chambers by the guards. There was a reaosn Sansa so clung tot he belief that her mother was behind the murder: as the Targaryens were the villains in Barbrey’s story, the Tully woman was the villain in Sansa’s.</p><p>And yet, still: it did not mean Sansa was right, no more than it meant Barbrey was right. But whatever the case, Lord Baelish certainly was.</p><p>Barbrey looked up to the sky, to the comet that had appeared there recently. Was it a sign from the old gods, she wondered? And if so, what did it mean? Was it a warning, of the red that would flood the North if she pursued this? But if it was true, how could she possibly convince the children to let it go?</p><p>Whatever the answers, they would not be found with Littlefinger.</p><p>“Do you mean to marry her, then?” She asked once their steps turned down from the walls.</p><p>“If she would have me, I would like nothing more,” he replied.</p><p>Barbrey simply nodded. Perhaps it was indeed for the best, even with the Tully woman as a possible killer. Occupied with a new husband, she would hopefully have little reason to involve herself in any nefarious plots in the North ever again.</p><p>“If you do,” she said, “keep her here, and away from us.”</p><p>“My dear lady,” he said, sounding amused, “I can safely promise you that.”</p><p>He nodded at her in parting, and she returned his nod as she stood below the walls, hesitating. The question was, what was Barbrey to do now?</p><p>She headed back to the Tower, her mind awhirl, and hid herself in her room until she would have a better idea what to do and how to act.</p><p>She spent hours pacing her small room, but in the end, she determined, nothing was actually changed with this conversation. The most likely explanation was still the bastard plot. It only meant that, even if the queen’s accusation was true, Barbrey could not pursue it. There were only two options before her: either the bastard plot proved to be true, and they found the culprit and some proof, or she would have to accept the king’s version and depart North with the killer, at least for now, unpunished.</p><p>One thing, however, was for certain: she could never tell the children the contents of her talk with Lord Baelish.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I love Barbrey being “so close, and yet so far” in so many ways. I especially enjoyed being able to write the ‘what interest would a spy have in putting a bastard on the throne’ line. Those familiar with the theory I’m referring to will know why.</p><p>And don't worry, Sansa will have her convo with LF in time too - in fact, in the chapter after the next! Next up is Jon.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Jon IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jon dines with the king, has a dream and goes for a ride.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>TW for some homophobic language in this chapter. Nothing too bad, but basically a crass heteronormative discussion.</p>
<p>Also this is, for the standards of this story, one long-ass chapter. They’ve been a bit longer recently in general, but this one tops that.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lately, Jon had been dreading his time spent with the king even more than before, as the man’s mood had turned very unpredictable. Some days, he would be almost buoyant, assuring Jon that Father’s killers would be caught soon and that he would have his vengeance. Other days, he would be furious, screaming about the Targaryens taking everything from him. When such mood came over him when they dined with the queen and the children as well, Cersei Lannister always collected her offspring and left - even when it happened during Prince Tommen’s eight name day feast a few days ago, in front of many witnesses - but Jon and Sansa always had to stay there and sit with Lady Catelyn in frozen silence.</p>
<p>When Jon was alone with him on such occasions, he at least did not have to worry about Sansa, but he felt afraid, not sure of what exactly - it was not as if the king showed any tendency to attack him, but something about it was deeply alarming.</p>
<p>Today, thankfully, was not one of these days.</p>
<p>In fact, the king was more buoyant than Jon had ever seen him, laughing out loud as he - he! - poured wine for Jon. “Come on, Jon, drink with me. Today is a good day!”</p>
<p>Jon obediently drank, then asked: “What happened, Your Grace?”</p>
<p>“Viserys Targaryen is dead!” The king announced.</p>
<p>Jon blinked. That was not the news he had expected to hear. “Congratulations, Your Grace,” he said a little uncertainly. “How did it come to pass?”</p>
<p>“Ah, you see I have very good spies! So when Varys learnt about the Targaryen plot, he sent word to his spy with the dragonspawn, and the spy in turn managed to turn the horselord Targaryen had allied himself with against him, and the Dotraki themselves killed him! There will never be an alliance now, so we don’t have to fear any invading horselords and can kill the sister at our leisure.” He scoffed. “No one would accept a woman on the throne here anyway, especially a Targaryen one. Or a half-Dotraki brat, for that matter.”</p>
<p>Jon felt a little uncomfortable about this. He wondered, if Father had truly been killed on Targaryen orders…had Daenerys Targaryen even known, or had it only been her brother’s plan? But now was not the time to express such doubts, so he only repeated: “Congratulations, Your Grace. That is truly good news.”</p>
<p>“It was about time for some,” the king agreed. “And Varys needed to redeem himself, too, after it had to be my younger brother who brought me news of the plot! But he acted fast, I’ll give him that. Ah, it’s good to have people who know their jobs around you.”</p>
<p>Jon silently agreed. The king luxuriated in the knowledge of Viserys Targaryen’s death for a while longer, then asked Jon: “Tell me, how has your training been going?”</p>
<p>“Well, Your Grace,” Jon answered honestly. The king had gone ahead with his idea of the squire melee, and so Jon had little choice but to prepare for participation. It was something to do, at least, and in fact he spent as long as he could in the training yard these days. Ser Barristan sometimes found time for him, and once when Lord Tyrion had been present, Ser Jaime had sparred with Jon, too. Jon was naturally always defeated on those occasions, but he knew he was learning much. Some of the people who wished for his friendship because of his favour with the king were decent at swords, too, and Jon sparred with them more often. When there was no one available, he trained alone. He heard many comments about savages still, when people watched him hacking at a dummy, but he did not take them to heart as much any longer. It was easier now: there was only a fortnight left until the tourney for the prince’s birthday, and after that they would finally be able to leave. Jon could survive another fortnight.</p>
<p>He told the king about his sparring in detail, and the king offered encouragement. At first there were even some useful tips, but as he got progressively drunker in celebration, he made less and less sense, and in the end he fell asleep. Jon got up to leave, but the kingsguard at the door frowned at him.</p>
<p>“Where is the king?” He asked,</p>
<p>“Sleeping,” Jon replied.</p>
<p>The kingsguard scowled, and pushed inside the room. “Stay,” he barked at Jon, and the approached the king and began the complicated process of waking him. It was a good half hour before he was satisfied that the king was merely drunk, nothing more, and let Jon go. Jon, his fist clenched in Ghost’s fur, walked away as fast as he could.</p>
<p>A fortnight, he repeated to himself. A fortnight.</p>
<p>That night, he dreamt he was Ghost again, as he did on most nights these days. It was not as freeing as in Winterfell, for he could not run where he wished and everyone looked at him with suspicion when he was Ghost as much as they did when he was himself, but at least he’d learnt to open doors with a paw as Ghost, so he could prowl the halls of the Tower of the Hand, keeping to the shadows. The white fur made it more difficult not to be spotted, but Ghost was quiet, and that came in useful.</p>
<p>He liked creeping through the servant quarters. The upper halls were mostly empty, but downstairs there was almost always someone awake, off duty guards drinking or, later in the night, the first maids rising to prepare food for the day. This night, he came across a few drunken guards and stood just beyond the doors, listening to their talk.</p>
<p>“Lord Renly was as pleasant as a rough buggering today,” one of them said with a chuckle.</p>
<p>Another one roared with laugher. “He’d know something about that all right.”</p>
<p>“Hah! Don’t be ridiculous. It’s him that buggers the flower knight, not the other way round!” Replied the first voice.</p>
<p>“Still might chafe, though,” a third guard pointed out, and they all burst out with laugher together this time. If Jon had been in his own skin, he would have been flushing crimson, but as it was, he just stood and felt intense embarrassment - and yet could not make himself leave.</p>
<p>“That’s why he’s in a bad mood, anyway,” the second guard then mused. “Haven’t fucked his little man-wife in too long. Once the Tyrell boy comes back for the tourney, he’ll be all sweet again, mark my words.”</p>
<p>“They should get married and be done with it,” the first guard said, and there was more raucous laugher.</p>
<p>Jon’s thoughts, in the back of Ghost’s minds, were swirling enough that he woke himself up.</p>
<p>He stared into the darkness of his small room. Was that truly – Lord Renly, the acting Hand of the King, and...Loras Tyrell, was it? He thought that was the name of the man they called the Knight of Flowers, at least. And he was...he was sleeping with Lord Renly?</p>
<p>Jon knew – his aunt had told him – that some men slept with other men, either when they couldn’t get a woman or just for fun. But this sounded...different. Not like going to a brothel. The guards talked about Lord Renly missing his...whatever Ser Loras was to him, and they even joked about marriage. Jon knew it was maliciously meant, but he still wondered.</p>
<p>He went to speak with Aunt Barbrey first thing in the morning.</p>
<p>She listened to his words, and seemed almost amused. “Well,” she said then, “that does explain some things. Go get Sansa.”</p>
<p>Jon frowned a little. He considered protesting that Sansa was a lady, and only twelve, and shouldn’t hear about such things, but then he thought of what his aunt and his sister would say to that and did as he was told instead.</p>
<p>They went on a ride together, and when they were far enough from the city, Jon explained what he’d heard, though he certainly used much milder terms than the guards had in the original conversation.</p>
<p>Sansa found the idea romantic.</p>
<p>“I know the men were mocking them,” she said stubbornly when Aunt Barbrey laughed at her a little, “but if they are truly loyal to each other...it is sad, is it not? They can never marry, and they will always have to keep it a secret. People in this city would never leave them alone otherwise.”</p>
<p>“I suppose it is sad, in a way,” Aunt Barbrey conceded, “but more importantly for us, it might explain what Lord Renly is doing.”</p>
<p>Jon frowned. “What do you mean?”</p>
<p>“Do you remember, when I mentioned how Lord Renly was the only possibility for the man behind bastard plot, how we could not understand why he would not simply try to become king himself, instead of placing Robert’s bastard on the throne?”</p>
<p>Jon and Sansa both nodded.</p>
<p>“Well, this could possibly be why,” Aunt Barbrey explained. “As a king, he would need marriage and heirs. I’ve heard there are some men that like other men so much they are completely repulsed by women. If that’s him, that might not appeal to him so much.”</p>
<p>“He is still the Lord of Storm’s End,” Sansa protested.</p>
<p>Aunt Barbrey hummed. “Yes, but he can make Stannis’ daughter his heir – his brother would hardly protest, and Dragonstone is likely to go to the next heir of the throne anyway - that’s what the Targaryens did, in any case. It would be far from as big a problem as a king being unmarried.” She shook her head. “No, if the men were right and there truly is more between them than just warming each other’s beds - and it would seem so, for why would Lord Renly be frustrated by Ser Loras’ absence otherwise? I am sure a man in his position would find no shortage of others willing to lie with him - well then, it truly might be distasteful to him, the idea of marriage. It’s still not a very convincing reason, mind you - who would give up a throne for that, but not shy away from murder at the same time? - but it’s better than we had before.”</p>
<p>“Lord Stannis is his brother, though,” Jon said musingly. “Would they not have worked together on this? If Lord Renly wanted the throne for himself, I can understand how that would not be feasible, since he would have to steal it from his brother, but as it is…?”</p>
<p>“Not all brothers are like you and Robb,” Aunt Barbrey replied with a sigh. “Stannis’…difficult relationship with both of his is known enough even I have heard about it since coming here, and hardly anyone speaks to me. And Stannis is said to be very strict and law-abiding. He would likely not approve of any plot to seat anyone but the legitimate heir on the throne, even if it was instigated by his brother.”</p>
<p>“And Lord Arryn?” Sansa asked curiously. “Would he not have wished to tell the king first thing? I understand if Lord Stannis did not, if they had a bad relationship, but you told me Lord Arryn raised the king…but the king doesn’t seem to know anything about it.”</p>
<p>Aunt Barbrey considered that for a while. “He might have been unsure of the king’s reaction,” he said then, slowly. “Arryn would have certainly disapproved of the plan - you saw how they treat bastard children in the Vale, and politically, of course, it would be unwise to anger the Lannisters, rich as they are. So he might have wished to to get rid of the plotters exactly without telling the king because…well, you have told me yourself, Sansa, what the relationship between the king and the queen is like. It is entirely possible that if someone brought this idea to the king and was convincing enough, he would decide he would rather his children with that woman did not inherit the throne. His relationship to them does not seem particularly…cordial.”</p>
<p>Well, that was true enough. Jon thought about it, and then thought about fathers disinheriting their trueborn sons in favour of their bastards, and then had to stop himself. No. He had never had any wishes to steal Robb’s inheritance, and he would not start now. Robb was Lord Stark, and soon Jon would go back North and finally take the place as his right hand that he was meant to have, and that would be that. It was clearly high time to leave, if this rotten city was putting such disgusting thoughts into his head.</p>
<p>Thinking about the king and children and claims on the throne reminded him, however, that he had not yet shared the news from the previous day, and so as they turned back towards the city, he said: “The king told me Viserys Targaryen is dead.”</p>
<p>“Oh!” Sansa exclaimed, surprised, and Jon saw Aunt Barbrey raise her eyebrows out of the corner of his eyes.</p>
<p>“That was more efficient than I’d have expected of him.”</p>
<p>“He claims it was arranged by Lord Varys, but who actually killed him were the Dothraki,” Jon explained.</p>
<p>Aunt Barbrey snorted. “Well, that is another argument against them killing Ned if you ask me.  If they had an elaborate plan of assassinating one Rebellion leader after another…well, does it really go with getting themselves killed foolishly by their own allies, whether the spider was involved or not?” She shook her head. “No, the bastard plot seems more and more likely every day. I suppose if Varys is involved in it, it would make sense that he would first try to throw suspicion on the Lannisters and then join the hunt against the Targaryens, though I still don’t see what he would gain.”</p>
<p>Neither Jon nor Sansa had any explanation for that either, and so they rode back to the Red Keep in silence. </p>
<p>Jon considered going to the training yard when they returned, but Sansa turned to him when Aunt Barbey was paying attention to the horses and said quietly: “Come with me.”</p>
<p>Curious, Jon did.</p>
<p>Sansa led him to her rooms, and after she shut the door, she sat very close to him and said quietly: “I’m going to write to Robb.”</p>
<p>Jon blinked. “Behind Aunt’s back?” He asked, surprised.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Sansa said with emphasis. “She doesn’t want me to tell him about Lady Catelyn and Littlefinger, but I have to! At least about the adultery!”</p>
<p>Jon frowned. “Sansa…it still might not be true, Aunt Barbrey is right.”</p>
<p>Sansa scoffed. “It probably is. And anyway, he shouldn’t be keeping secrets from Robb, he’s our liege lord now.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure Aunt means to tell him once we come back.”</p>
<p>“Well, I mean to tell him now,” Sansa said with determination, and Jon sighed.</p>
<p>For him, personally, the idea of Lady Catelyn dishonouring herself with Lord Baelish was...freeing, in a way.</p>
<p>Though he’d always disliked her, as had his siblings, mostly, she’d always managed to keep a aura of a sort of honourable perfection. Lord Stark was honourable in a straightforward way that allowed for human mistakes still – like Jon, the biggest manifestation of that human mistake on Lord Stark’s part – but Lady Stark wore her honour like a cloak and armour. She had never done anything wrong in her life, she seemed to proclaim with her every look and word, and whatever misfortunes the world threw at her, she could always take comfort in that.</p>
<p>Jon wondered what would make her take such a drastic step. Was she in love with Lord Baelish, as he was with her? All those years in Winterfell, had she loved someone in the south? He had to admit the idea was rather sad. He thought of Ryella, and wondered if he, too, would still love her when he was twice as old as he was now.</p>
<p>Or had Lady Stark stayed honourable simply because she had no other opportunity? After all, she could have hardly been unfaithful to Lord Stark in his own seat with his own subjects, who loved him, and she hardly ever left Winterfell.</p>
<p>Jon liked this idea better. It didn’t leave him with as much sympathy for Lady Stark, and he didn’t want to have any sympathy for her at all.</p>
<p>He had plenty of sympathy for Sansa, though. She might not have liked Lady Catelyn overmuch, but it was still her mother, and even suspecting something like this pained her, he could see it in her eyes as she sat over her writing desk, labouring over her letter.</p>
<p>Letters came easily to Sansa under normal circumstances, but now she had to write in code, and a code for which they had no established key. They had not thought to arrange a way to communicate that Lady Stark might have found a lover, and so they now had to think of a way to phrase it that would be sufficiently clear to Robb without being obvious to anyone else.</p>
<p>“You should refer to something that only Robb knows,” Jon suggested. “That way, no one here would understand what you meant.”</p>
<p>Sansa immediately seized onto the idea. “Northern stories!” She said. “They’re not known in the south at all, and I’m sure we have something that would serve. Let me think.”</p>
<p>Jon did. Sansa was much better at stories than him, and he knew she would hit upon something.</p>
<p>“Oh!” She exclaimed after a moment. “I have it: Bael the Bard!”</p>
<p>Jon frowned. “I don’t know the name.”</p>
<p>Sansa giggled. “You wouldn’t. It’s not a story Father wanted us children to hear, but I’ve overheard someone singing a song I didn’t know once and snuck close to listen, and then I pestered Old Nan until she told it to me. He was a King Beyond the Wall, and he is said to have seduced the daughter of a Lord of Winterfell a long time ago, and then his son, they say, became the next Lord...and killed his own father when he came south raiding.”</p>
<p>Jon grimaced. “I can see why Father didn’t want us to know the story.”</p>
<p>“It’s gruesome, but it’s romantic too,” Sansa insisted. “And, anyway, it’s perfect for what I need. I know Robb knows it, because I’ve heard him hum it once.”</p>
<p>“Just make sure Robb doesn’t think Littlefinger has seduced <i>you</i>,” Jon warned, and had to laugh a little at Sansa’s affronted look.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Sansa IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Sansa talks to Littlefinger.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sansa was always so angry these days, she alternated between crying and wanting to hit something.</p>
<p>Preferably to hit her mother, but she was still herself enough to know that would not lead her anywhere good.</p>
<p>Still, this was so...so...so unfair! Why did she, of all people, have to have a mother like that? A mother who cared for no one but herself in the whole world! A mother who would spit on her husband, who would sell her own daughter into a terrible marriage, who would hate her stepson...it was like from some terrible story, the evil stepmother that ruined the children’s life! But at least Jon didn’t share her blood!</p>
<p>Sansa hoped Robb would call them back to the North very soon, and that he’d request her presence specifically. In fact, she’d as good as begged him for it in her letter, telling him how hard Lady Catelyn was pressing her about the betrothal to Joffrey. She scarcely talked of anything else now, during the time Sansa was forced to spend with her, repeating all the political reasons for why it would be good over and over, waving Sansa’s objections to Joffrey’s character away with ‘he is a child, and he is going to be king’. She talked about how it was Sansa’s duty, about her father nearly agreeing to the betrothal and how that made it Sansa’s responsibility to carry it out as Father’s last wish. She was relentless, and by the time Sansa’s was allowed to leave, she was always exhausted. She was usually shaking by the time she reached her rooms, and needed Aunt Barbrey to sit with her for sometimes hours, reassuring hr that no, this had not been what Father had wanted for her.</p>
<p>The idea that she would have to remain, that she would be left behind with the terrible woman while all of her family left, was dreadful. She had been determined to help her family, even if it meant marrying Joffrey, but that was before she’d known what it would be like. With them here, she could barely hold herself together. Without them, she knew, she would fail.</p>
<p>Sansa wanted to hit something again. For the first time in her life, she wished she could train with a sword, like Ryella did, just so she could vent her frustration somehow.</p>
<p>As it was, she went for a walk. It was the closest she could get – she would prefer to go riding, but for that she needed Jon, and she knew Jon was relentlessly training for the melee these days. He would go with her if she asked, but she didn’t want to distract him from what was more important. So, a walk it was.</p>
<p>She hadn’t been on the walls of the Red Keep for more than ten minutes before Lord Baelish joined her.</p>
<p>His presence made her skin crawl, and yet still she blamed him less than her mother. After all, he had never been married.</p>
<p>“Lord Baelish,” she said with frosty politeness.</p>
<p>“Lady Sansa,” he returned, with a small smile. “May I join you?”</p>
<p>She said nothing. He took it for acceptance and fell into step beside her. Sansa considered running away, but she did not wish to cause a scene. </p>
<p>“I see that the rumours reached you,” he said in a friendly tone.</p>
<p>“Yes,” Sansa agreed, and if it was possible for voices to freeze over surfaces, hers would, “rumours have a tendency to do that.”</p>
<p>“And it seems,” he continued, unperturbed, “that you were...disturbed by what you heard.”</p>
<p>“Would you not be?” Sansa asked incredulously.</p>
<p>He shrugged. “Your friend Lady Dustin, I know, understands doomed love. But I am aware you are too young to truly sympathise.”</p>
<p>“My aunt,” Sansa said through gritted teeth, “never broke her marriage vows to Lord Dustin.”</p>
<p>“No, but then she was married to him for a very short time, was she not? And in the middle of that short time, her beloved died. There was little opportunity. Do you truly believe that, had Brandon Stark lived and married Cat, they would have never fallen into bed together again?”</p>
<p>Sansa thought about it. She wanted to say no, but...her strong, wild, cheerful uncle married to the repulsive woman her mother was? How could he not wish to seek comfort elsewhere? She wondered that her father had not, and Uncle Brandon, she knew from Aunt Barbrey, had been much more hot-blooded than him.</p>
<p>The only thing that might have stopped him was respect for his friend, Lord Dustin, but then again, Lord Dustin might have turned a blind eye to it, as long as there were no bastards born of the union – Sansa knew his marriage to Aunt Barbrey had been one of friendship, and perhaps he’d have wished his two friends happiness together? But in any case, it would have been only out of friendship that Uncle Brandon might have stayed away from Aunt Barbrey, and Lord Baelish, she knew, had no friendship for her father.</p>
<p>Still, it was enough for her to say: “He might not have.”</p>
<p>Lord Baelish laughed. “He might not have, yes – just as we might not have...rekindled our friendship with your mother, I suppose. But we did. Is that truly so difficult to understand?”</p>
<p>Sansa thought about how unwise it would be to say more. She knew one had to be circumspect in this city, but Lord Baelish had spoken of this openly with her aunt after all, from what she could gather, and so she decided it was no great risk to reply: “Am I to be understanding of my father’s mode of death, as well?”</p>
<p>At that, he gave her a sharp look. “So Lady Dustin truly believes that, does she?”</p>
<p>“No,” Sansa conceded, “but I am much less certain, my lord.”</p>
<p>He relaxed again. “Ah, my lady, what certainties are there in this world?” He asked lightly. “But there are other explanations, as I am certain your esteemed Aunt has discussed with you, and would you not rather believe some of them?”</p>
<p>“I would rather expect the worst,” she returned, “as I can then be only pleasantly surprised.”</p>
<p>At that, he looked at her with rather more interest, which made her acutely uncomfortable. “You are wise, my lady, beyond your years,” he said then. “But there is a difference between embracing believing the worst for yourself, and letting others believe the worst <i>of</i> yourself…or your family.”</p>
<p>“I have not gone shouting my suspicion off the rooftops, my lord,” she returned. True, she had written about it to Robb, but that was, after all, her duty. She could sort of understand why Aunt Barbrey did not see it - she raised him, after all - but still. He was their lord. Whatever secrets she might have been tempted to keep from him before, how could she do so now? And something this crucial, too? How could Robb make a good decision about if their mother should be allowed back south or not if he did not know about these suspicions and possibilities? So yes, Robb absolutely had to know.</p>
<p>Apart from him, though, she had only discussed it with Aunt Barbrey and Jon, not a single soul more. Not even Aly, her best friend, knew about the murder accusation.</p>
<p>Lord Baelish only nodded, and they walked for a time in silence. “The king still wishes to betroth you to the prince, does he not?” He then asked, out of the blue.</p>
<p>“He does,” Sansa conceded.</p>
<p>“I am certain someone as wise and beautiful as yourself could be a great asset to the court and the royal family,” Lord Baelish muttered, pausing just enough for Sansa’s ‘you are too kind’ laced with dread and then continuing: “However, your brother is newly the Lord of your house, and you are, after all, very young. It might be that your assistance is more needed in the North before it could ever be hoped to be enjoyed in King’s Landing with any permanence.”</p>
<p>Was he…was it only Sansa’s hopeful thinking, or was he truly…? “It is my dearest wish, my lord,” she replied carefully, “too be able to help my brother in any way I can, and my future good sister, too, in settling into her duties as the Lady of Winterfell.”</p>
<p>“Of course, how could I forget - she is your friend, is she not? Naturally you would wish to be by her side, as well.” He smiled at her. “The capital sometimes has the tendency to forget others’ needs, caught up in its own as it is, but I will not do so again, my lady, and I hope the rest of court will endeavour to do the same.”</p>
<p>It was then that Sansa remembered Aunt Barbrey indicating that her mother having an affair with Lord Baelish - possibly marrying Lord Baelish - could be a good thing. She had never seen that before now, but if Lord Baelish combined competence at courtly games in willingness to help them, on the strength of his affection, then would it not be a gift beyond compare?</p>
<p>As long as it was a gift, that was. It did not take her long to realise there might be a price on it, and a very particular one: they would have his help, if, in turn, they did not pursue the question of Sansa’s mother possibly murdering Lord Stark.</p>
<p>Her stomach turned, and she had to bite down on her lip to stop any sharp remark she wished to make. Nothing would be served by a refusal except her own pride, and she had not gone south for her pride.</p>
<p>“My lord is too kind,” she murmured simply. “May I assume he would do us as great a service as mentioning this to my lady mother?”</p>
<p>Lord Baelish gave a sigh. “Cat can be…stubborn, in many ways. I love her, mind, but as I have said before, I am not blind to her faults. She very much desires to see you as the queen one day.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Sansa said coldly, “I am aware.”</p>
<p>“It is also that she dislikes Lady Dustin very strongly,” Lord Baelish added, “and sees this as a secure way to ensure you are out of her reach.”</p>
<p>“My lady mother’s care for my well-being is excessively kind,” Sansa muttered. She was grateful that her terrible rides with Joffrey had at least taught her how to speak with courtly politeness, whatever she felt. Lord Baelish, of course, could pick up on the underlying meaning of her words, unlike Joffrey, but she did not care about that in this instance. </p>
<p>“She believes some…nefarious things about Lady Dustin, I am afraid,” Lord Baelish added by way of an explanation. “For this reason and others, she will not relent in the matter of your betrothal, whatever I say. She does not wish for you to go back North.”</p>
<p>Sansa gritted her teeth. “Well,” she said, “it is fortunate that it is the wishes of my brother and liege lord, not my mother, that are paramount here.”</p>
<p>“Quite,” Lord Baelish agreed, and they parted soon afterwards. </p>
<p>Sansa immediately headed for Aly.</p>
<p>She couldn’t imagine what she would have done if Lady Waynwood had not agreed to her daughter accompanying Sansa into the capital. Aunt Barbrey’s support was crucial, of course, but Sansa felt like she was already taking up so much of her aunt’s time and energy with needing her help after speaking to Mother, she did not wish to bother her with anything else. And Jon, of course, for all that he tried, was a boy and simply did not understand some things as well.</p>
<p>Aly, though…Aly had been so much comfort to her, and Sansa thanked the gods every day for sending her to Winterfell.</p>
<p>Sansa found her sitting in her room over embroidery, and happily joined her as she retold her conversation with Lord Baelish, or the parts of it she was not obliged to keep secret, at least. Aly seemed surprised at his honesty, and confused about his motivations.</p>
<p>“If he loves your mother so much,” she said, “why is he not agreeing with her more?”</p>
<p>Sansa shrugged. “He said he’s not blind to her faults,” she remembered, and then added: “I think it’s like what Aunt Barbrey told me once. She said that she’d loved Uncle Brandon with all her heart, but that he’d been a fool.”</p>
<p>Aly frowned. “How can you love someone and still think they are a fool?”</p>
<p>Sansa thought about that. It didn’t seem so impossible to her. “You do not choose who you fall in love with,” she pointed out.</p>
<p>“Yes, but why would you not fall <i>out</i> of love once you realise he is a fool?”</p>
<p>Sansa did not think it worked like that, but she did not have the words to explain. “Perhaps we have to fall in love first to understand it,” she suggested.</p>
<p>Aly grimaced. “Listening to all this, I would much rather not. Being tied to someone who might well be a fool, and as likely as not unable to marry them anyway…give me a good, secure marriage over this any day.”</p>
<p>“Like my parents had?” Sansa asked archly.</p>
<p>“Well, but see, if your mother had not been in love with Lord Baelish then perhaps it would have been a good, secure marriage?”</p>
<p>Sansa briefly contemplated the possibility, but almost immediately rejected it. Her mother was a terrible person in almost all ways, and her love for Lord Baelish was unlikely to be the cause for every single one of them. “If something,” she pointed out, “that should have made her more understanding about Jon.”</p>
<p>“That is true,” Aly conceded, and shook her head. “Ah, I just don’t understand this at all. Tell me what was in your letter from Wylla instead? Hopefully she is not in love at least.”</p>
<p>Sansa smiled a little at the offered distraction. She had sent a letter to Wylla when she had been in the capital for a few days to give her first impressions, and the previous day she had received a reply. She still carried it with her in her pouch, and now took it out. “Do you wish for me to read it?” She asked. “In truth, it is mostly Wylla complaining about the lessons she now has to take in preparation for being the lady of White Harbour one day, and how it cuts into the time she can spend in the harbour or in the godswood of the old castle.”</p>
<p>Aly smiled at that. “That sounds like Wylla,” she said. “Please, if you do not mind?”</p>
<p>And so Sansa read, her friend’s words slowly soothing the anger she felt as she lost herself in the little trivialities of Wylla’s life.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>On letters: I’m pretty sure ravens only carried relatively short messages, plus there was a limited number of them so they were likely used onyl for news of some importance/urgency (hence the saying “dark wings, dark words”). For the epistolar tradition like the one from our middle ages, I think letters would still be carried by actual people, and so of course also travel much more slowly.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Tyrion V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tyrion does research.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tyrion had spent the last ten days by reading about Essos, as the most roundabout way to get to reading about poisons.</p>
<p>He had brains enough to know that asking directly about treatises on rare poisons was as good as asking to have his throat cut in his sleep, even without Varys’ warning, so he had instead pretended to be considering travel to the Free Cities, and went through books on geography, languages and cultures.</p>
<p>It was in one of the customs of the coastal cities that he found first got lucky. More than simply mentioning the Tears of Lys, it described the symptoms exactly, matching Jon Arryn’s to perfection.</p>
<p>Tyrion had been surprised, when Varys had told him about the poison that was used to remove Arryn. He had seen the name before, but never with a detailed description of what it actually did. He had been certain enough that Arryn had been poisoned, but it was still different from having it confirmed as fact, including the name of the poison used.</p>
<p>He had been even more shocked, of course, at Varys of all people telling him anything at all.</p>
<p>He still didn’t quite understand or trust the spider’s motivations. When he’d seen him in his room, that night over a week ago, he’d almost pissed himself.  But Varys had claimed to be an ally, to serve the realm, and insisted that anyone who killed two Hands in a row was a danger to it. “The king has his own theories,” he had said, “and they direct the investigation he ordered conducted, but I have my own doubts about the explanation he is so confident of. I would like to get at the truth, even if I never get a chance to convince the king of it.”</p>
<p>Apparently, he was trying to find the poisoner with his network of spies, seeming to judge it as a more fruitful endeavour than tracing the person who hired the brutes that killed Stark. Still, he’d claimed to need Tyrion’s assistance as well.</p>
<p>“It is obvious enough from what you told Lady Dustin,” he’d said, “that you do not share the king’s theory either. Help me look, then. Two minds are better than one.”</p>
<p>Tyrion, who had no idea if Varys knew the reason for which he’d invented the bastard plot, had little choice but to go along. The division of labour made sense, at least: spies were Varys’ expertise, and books were Tyrion.</p>
<p>Now, he had one question that Varys had presented to him answered: how difficult was it to learn about the Tears of Lys in an innocuous manner? Not all that easy, but not prodigiously difficult either.</p>
<p>Although anyone else than Tyrion or Pycelle would certainly draw much more attention for spending so much time reading, and Pycelle, Varys assured him, would not have done it except at Lord Tywin’s behest. And Tyrion could not very well imagine his father murdering Arryn. Stark, maybe - he had been offended at not being offered the Hand position, much like Stannis - but not Arryn. The man had been old, all Tywin would have needed to do was wait.</p>
<p>So all in all, Tyrion still thought it was likely that the killer was someone who knew a good deal about poisons already, not someone who specifically looked for a way to get rid of Arryn. Or else the murder had been prepared over many years.</p>
<p>The poison was apparently prodigiously expensive, but then that did not limit the options much. Anyone involved in such plotting would have the means to get enough money to buy the poison. More important was that they would need to know about it and realise it was the best option to use, which limited the candidates rather more – and, Tyrion could not help but think, rather excluded his sister. Cersei was a fool in many ways, and he was certain enough she’d have thought a cheaper poison good enough for what she needed. No, there was someone else, someone much more dangerous, behind the death.</p>
<p>But he still had very little idea who.</p>
<p>And in the meanwhile, as he and Varys weren’t getting very far in their investigation of the true reason and culprit behind the deaths, false reasons for why and by whom Lord Stark might have been murdered were growing like mushrooms.</p>
<p>There was, of course, the one the king had officially committed to and Varys had condescended to tell him about only after some heavy cajoling: a Targaryen plot. </p>
<p>If Tyrion hadn’t known about the bastards investigation, he might have even believed it.</p>
<p>Or rather, he would never in his life believe that the two Targaryen children beyond the Narrow Sea managed to concoct such a sophisticated plot - sophistication had not been the Targaryen way for a while, as evidenced by openly marrying a Dothraki horselord. There was nothing subtle about that at all. However, that did not exclude the possibility that a Targaryen supporter, hearing about the marriage, had tried to clear the way for an invasion with a spot or two of murder. </p>
<p>As it was, however, he knew perfectly well the truth lay elsewhere, and so he was free to wonder what the purpose of feeding Robert this information was, and who was behind it.</p>
<p>Of course, there had certainly been the need to feed him <i>something</i>. The longer the question of Lord Stark’s death went unanswered, the more….difficult the king’s character got. He had been angry all the time, and growing more paranoid by the day. But if one meant to soothe those failings of tempter, naming Robert’s greatest enemies as those behind the assassination was certainly not the way to go about it. Robert had officially announced the Targaryens as culprits only a few days ago, alongside the triumphant declaration of Viserys Targaryen’s death. Since then, the king’s constant anger had changed to wild swings between a sort of eerie cheerfulness and even more intense anger. At times, he seemed gleeful at discovering the plot and at being ready to punish the Targaryens, and at others he was furious at his enemies taking away everyone he loved. If he could have, Tyrion knew he would ride to war against them immediately, but one Targaryen was dead and the other was somewhere in the Dothraki sea. Robert needed her to at least get closer to strike, and this impotence frustrated him.</p>
<p>Tyrion could not but wonder if whoever gave the king this explanation had known all this, and had actually hoped to worsen the king’s mental state with the theory.</p>
<p>And who was there who both wanted to destabilise the king and prevent the revelation of Cersei’s adultery? That was the most puzzling part of this, truly, because revealing that none of his children were his, but bastards of incest instead, seemed like a very good way to push Robert even closer to insanity, and to destabilise the whole regime in general. Why would anyone not wish that, enough that they would kill Arryn and Stark for it? Were they a Lannister sympathiser? But then why want to make Robert unstable? Did they want to push him aside and put Joffrey on the throne instead? Why would anyone, in the whole wide world, want such a thing? He supposed they might believe Joffrey would be more tractable, being a child - someone who did not know the little shit might well believe that - but it would still require someone who already had influence over the boy, to make it make sense, and there was literally no one like that except for Cersei, and even that was limited.</p>
<p>This whole thing made no sense at all.</p>
<p>Then there was the theory pushed by his sister, that Lady Catelyn had murdered her husband. Again, it would perhaps make sense on paper, if Tyrion knew nothing about Lady Catelyn at all. If she hadn’t snapped and killed him in all those years in the North, she would not do so just because she came South. Littlefinger was actually more likely, but it would have been an enormous risk for him, and the little shit had always been self-preserving if nothing else. Maybe if he already had an affair with Lady Catelyn, but it was painfully obvious that the man was just panting after her in longing even after four moons since Ned Stark’s death, and Littlefinger would hardly kill the Hand of the King for such slim pickings, and of course neither of them had any reason to murder Arryn at all.</p>
<p>So that theory was unsatisfying as well. </p>
<p>Then there was the supposed bastard plot, which he had invented for Lady Dustin, and which, according to the few hints she gave him, she probably suspected Renly of.</p>
<p>And then there was the real answer, whatever it was – an answer that Tyrion still considered most likely to be tied in to the Arryn murder. Hence his investigation.</p>
<p>The problem, of course, was that knowing about the Tears of Lys helped only very little.</p>
<p>He had known since the beginning that if there was a single person behind both murders, they were very creative and flexible, to commit two such crimes in such a different manner, so this was not knew. He had known they were careful from the way the men who killed Ned Stark died. Knowing they were rich, in addition to that, told him little in King’s Landing.</p>
<p>No, he had to focus on something else.</p>
<p>After some consideration, he hit upon the idea of looking for opportunity. After all, slipping poison to the Hand of the King should not be easy. Arryn did not have a taster, as far as Tyrion knew, but still, there should have been security. Bribing servants would be easiest, of course, and it was already established that the person behind it was rich, but the problem was, bribing a servant rarely excluded the possibility of them talking later, when they were drunk or afraid or any other thing. One could be lucky enough to chance upon a truly smart one, of course, but then again the smart ones rarely agreed to be bribed to poison their masters. There were enormous risks inherent in it, and the types of men willing to do that, Tyrion imagined, would be the shortsighted ones eager for money and unable to see the long game.</p>
<p>Or, of course, someone extremely devious who had the patience to save their money for until it was safe to spend it, but for the sake of simplicity Tyrion would assume that was not the case. After all, such men were rare even among the lords.</p>
<p>So, if the true culprit behind the poisoning was clever, that would be the first thing they would take care of, killing the guilty servant in turn.</p>
<p>Tyrion supposed he had his start, then: he simply needed to find out if any Arryn servant had died soon after the hand’s death. It sounded like the sort of question Varys could have answer to, only the eunuch had warned him very strongly against seeking him out on his own, assuring him that he would come to him instead. So, frustrated, Tyrion waited.</p>
<p>Thankfully it only took the spider a few days to appear in Tyrion’s room once more. Tyrion gave a brief overview of his findings, then gave his theory.</p>
<p>Varys gave him a condescending look. “My lord,” he said, “that was the first thing I looked for. As it happens, none of the local servants have died since then, and the Arryn ones have all, of course, returned  to the Vale. I have tried making enquiries there, but that is naturally much more complicated for me.”</p>
<p>Tyrion scoffed. “Please. You have people across the Narrow Sea.” Tyrion didn’t know if it was actually true that the spider managed to get Viserys Targaryen killed or if he simply claimed the accolades, but he certainly had a spy able to tell him the moment the death occurred, at the very least.</p>
<p>“Hmm. Yes,” Varys conceded, “but then a city across the sea can sometimes be easier than a castle close by, if the castle is well guarded and the population small enough.”</p>
<p>Tyrion supposed that was true. He had only ever read about the Eyrie, but from what he understood, it would be entirely impossible to get in unobserved.</p>
<p>“There don’t seem to have been any suspicious deaths,” Varys added, “but, alas, I cannot say that for absolute certain. But I thank you for the work you have done.”</p>
<p>Tyrion waved him away. It was not as if he’d been useful in any way. He felt frustrated, in truth - he had not found anything important about the Tears of Lys. And in his previous research, when it came to the northern magic, all that was written in the books he found were insipid septons’ complaints about the tree-worshipping heathens. He wondered - was the King’s Landing library truly so bad, or was he simply worse at reading than he’d thought?</p>
<p>He considered Oldtown again. He had to stick around town until Myrcella’s birthday, of course, but after that, was there perhaps a way to go there without his father dragging him back by his feet, or rather having someone else do that? Well, he supposed a man could dream, even if he was a dwarf.</p>
<p>He was getting rather tired of the dead ends and shifting sands of the capital, and one good book about magic, he was sure, could pour life back into his veins.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Catelyn IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Catelyn argues with her daughter, and speaks with her friend.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, an apology: after the last Cat POV, I said in the comments that the next Cat POV would be the lowest she ever gets as regards her subjective experience, and that it only goes up from there, but I forgot about this chapter being here. So, um, the *next* Cat POV will be lowest point. This time, it's true, I swear, I triple checked!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You have been spending so much time with Prince Joffrey, refusing a betrothal would be unseemly now if only for that reason,” Catelyn told her daughter at one of their shared midday meals.</p><p>Sansa stayed silent.</p><p>“You create certain expectations with your behaviour, Sansa,” Catelyn tried. “Surely your father taught you about honour. It is dishonourable to break your word, and  you as good as gave your, by how many rides you have gone in with him.”</p><p>Still, Sansa said nothing.</p><p>Catelyn fought a frustrated sigh. If she had thought Sansa was cold to her before, it was nothing to how she behaved now. Before, at their shared meals, there was hardly ever anything beyond empty pleasantries. Now, there was cold silence, and when addressed directly with a question, Sansa answered as curtly as was possible, and always excuses herself as soon as it could be said that she’d consumed a meal.</p><p>Catelyn knew why, of course. In spite of her denial, Sansa had believed the rumours about her and Petyr. It made Cat furious. Her whole life, she had done everything she should, she had borne the dishonour her husband gave her, and now she was to be begrudged even the little bit of friendship she could fins in this place?</p><p>She had taken to always being in company with one of her lady friends when outside of the Tower of the Hand so that no more unsavoury rumours could stick to her. Even when she spoke with Petyr, one of the ladies was always there, nearby. She knew it made Petyr sad, but he understood the necessity and was willing to tolerate it for her. She suspected there was little he wouldn’t do for her.</p><p>But none of it, clearly, had convinced Sansa, and neither had Catelyn’s many arguments made any progress in compelling her to agree tot he betrothal to the prince.</p><p>Catelyn felt a little shamed by using reasoning that was slightly dishonest at this point, but what choice did her daughter leave her? She ignored all the reasonable arguments.</p><p>She ignored these, too, though, and Catelyn was tired. “Sansa, your behaviour is bordering on unacceptable,” she said now, watching her daughter’s sullen expression.</p><p>Sansa gave her the most insolent look she’d ever seen from her. “Truly, Mother?” She said. “You, of all people, wish to talk about unacceptable behaviour?”</p><p>Catelyn gritted her teeth. “I told you those disgusting rumours were nothing but falsehoods.”</p><p>“Of course. After all, you would never add lying to fornication, would you?”</p><p>Catelyn flushed. Sansa had never been this brazen before. “How dare you-” she began.</p><p>Sansa abruptly rose from the table. “May I be excused,” she said in a flat tone with no trace of a question, and left the room.</p><p>Catelyn was at the end of her rope and her patience both, and had no idea what to do. </p><p>As she usually did in such situations, she went to pray. The sept of the Red Keep was always busy, but the Warrior’s shrine was the most crowded, and she found enough space in front of Mother’s to light a candle and kneel, asking for help.</p><p>Her mind went through the Hymn in her mind, but could not help thinking that there was nothing in it that would help in this situation. Her daughter did not need to be helped through any fray, unless her father’s death counted, and that had already been months. Apart from that, Sansa was comfortable and safe, and the only source of turmoil were rumours she insisted on listening to.</p><p>So after she finished the Hymn, she prayed in her own words, for her daughter to find guidance, and for herself to find a way to lead her to the right way, to speak to her in such a manner that would make her understand where her duty lay, to make her see all the ways in which she was behaving inappropriately. </p><p>Perhaps the Maiden’s altar would be better for this, she realised after a moment, for truly, what she needed was her daughter becoming more of a gentle girl the way the Faith taught young girls should be, not whatever northern parody of a young girl the Dustin woman tried to raise her into, and so Catelyn rose and went to that altar as well. She received some strange looks – it was not often that widows prayed at the Maiden’s altar – but she persevered, praying for the Maiden to guide her daughter. ‘I know she has never knelt before you, prayed to you,’ she told the Maiden, ‘but forgive her, for it is not her fault, and guide her into your light.’</p><p>It was not quite appropriate for her to recite the Maiden’s hymn, so after this brief personal prayer, Catelyn rose again and left the sept.</p><p>She felt a little calmer now, as she usually did after a visit to a sept, and decided to speak to her friends.</p><p>Elinor Chelsted was in her rooms and seemed happy to see her, as she usually did, but her expression grew grimmer when she looked more closely at her face.</p><p>“Lady Catelyn,” she said, rising and taking her hands, “what happened?”</p><p>Catelyn shook her head. “Simply another attempt at conversing with my daughter.”</p><p>Lady Elinor gave her a compassionate look and ushered her into a seat. “What happened?” She asked again, pouring out some wine mixed with water.</p><p>Catelyn gratefully took a sip, then said: “As before, she believes the rumours spreading about me.”</p><p>Lady Elinor sighed. “She is the only one who does, truly. After you first asked me about this, I did my best to find out any rumours about you and Lord Baelish, and there is almost nothing. Or…nothing about an affair, at least.”</p><p>Catelyn, sadly, knew what she meant. “They are still talking about Petyr,” she said, not truly wishing for a confirmation but needing to know all the same.</p><p>“Yes,” Lady Elinor said heavily. “It is…turning from pity to mockery now, I think, which…saddens me.” She hesitated for a moment: “You know I am friendly with Lord Baelish, as much as a married woman can safely be friendly with a man not her husband in this place?”</p><p>“I do,” Catelyn confirmed. After all, Lady Chelsted was who Petyr had most earnestly recommended her as a companion.</p><p>“I admit that I…dislike seeing this,” Lady Elinor said carefully. “His position is already difficult, as he has no important House behind him and so people tend to mock and disregard him in general, and since Lord Arryn’s death he had lost his most important backer. He is very good at what he does, of course, so that helps, but…” She sighed. “It is not an easy situation for him.”</p><p>Catelyn was immediately ashamed of herself. She got so caught up in her own difficulties, she never, in the months she had lived here, bothered to seriously enquire how Petyr was doing. What sort of friend was she? </p><p>Of course, he would likely brush her off and assure her he was fine - he was so protective of her - but she realised that she had a unique opportunity in Lady Elinor.</p><p>“Has he been struggling?” She asked.</p><p>Lady Elinor sighed. “I am sure you know he would never admit to that, but I can see that the situation wears on him. He is very tired these days, exhausted even, and I worry about the long-term effects. I…well, perhaps that is too forward of me.”</p><p>“Please, Lady Elinor, we are friends,” Catelyn chided softly. “Speak plainly.” If there was one person in this city Catelyn trusted aside from Petyr, it was Lady Elinor.</p><p>“It is simply that I have to wonder…would it be so bad, being married to him?”</p><p>Catelyn froze, and Lady Elinor rushed to explain: “I do not mean to push you into anything, or try and persuade you, it is merely that…well, had I been unmarried and had I had him in love with me, I believe I would have been eager.” Catelyn was unsure what expression was on her face upon hearing that, but it made Lady Elinor rush even more with her next words: “Not that I am in love with him or anything of the sort, but he is a kind, courteous man who I know would not mistreat me, who would love me and be a good friend to me, and that is more than most women can say about their husbands, truly. But of course I understand you are the daughter of a Lord Paramount and a widow of another, and that for you, Lord Baelish is not highborn enough, even though I have heard rumours that he might be receiving a larger lordship soon for his assistance to the king. It is simply that I dislike to see him suffer.”</p><p>Catelyn frowned at those words. They were not wrong, as such, but they still sat wrong with her, the idea that she was making someone suffer.</p><p>“It would not be appropriate,” she said at length.</p><p>“Of course,” Lady Elinor said immediately, her voice much stiffer than before. “Forgive me for speaking so out my turn.”</p><p>Catelyn almost flinched. “Lady Elinor, that is not what I meant. It is merely…I know the duties that my standing puts upon me, and this is not in accordance with them.”</p><p>Lady Elinor gave her an arch look. “And what are the duties of a widow, except for caring for her children, whom you are either kept apart from or, in case of your daughter, they shun your company?”</p><p>This time Catelyn did flinch, but she could not help but to think of Lady Elinor’s words.</p><p>Her children’s reluctance did not free her from her duties, of course, but it did mean she spent much less time on them then she otherwise would have. Neither her father nor her son were interested in her assistance at this point, and what else was there for her?</p><p>She could not help but see a dark future on the horizon.</p><p>She had spoken to Petyr about the situation with Sansa again recently, their rare private meeting these days, when he came to tell her that he finally had a chance to discuss matters with Lady Dustin and Sansa both. He had looked deeply worried, and before long began pacing her solar.</p><p>“Cat…I worry about Lady Dustin and what she might do, I truly do. She is the kind of woman who stops at nothing to get what she wants. I know you have told me as much, but I confess I might have underestimated her still. But now that I spoke to her…she is vicious, and your daughter is completely under her thumb.”</p><p>Catelyn had known all of that already, but she had hoped, naively, that perhaps Petyr would suddenly divine a solution.</p><p>“I fear,” he continued, “that there is no changing Sansa’s mind against the betrothal without managing to separate her from Lady Dustin in some way, at least for a short while. I will try to think of a way, though I do not have one in mind for now. I assume your insistence with Sansa has changed nothing so far?”</p><p>“No,” Catelyn admitted. “I am becoming desperate.”</p><p>He embraced her, then, and patted her hair. “It will all work out well,” he muttered. “I promise you, Cat, it will all work out well.”</p><p>Catelyn did her best to believe him, but she worried, and not only about Sansa.</p><p>The tourney was in five days, and she knew perfectly well that the Dustin woman meant to take Sansa back north as soon as possible after it. Catelyn could try preventing and keeping Sansa here, but she was not certain she would succeed. And once they left North…what would become of Catelyn?</p><p>She could not live in the Tower of the Hand forever, as kind as Lord Renly was to her. She had counted on Robb providing for her, but if Sansa wrote to him of her suspicions...would he believe her? With no chance to see for his own, would he rely on his sister’s word to condemn his mother to...what? What fate would her children see for her? What id, to justify their rejection, they made their accusation public? Would Catelyn’s name be made into a mockery?</p><p>She thought of Edmure. Her sister, who it would be easier for Catelyn to open up to, was barely speaking to her. If her worst fears proved correct, she might have no choice but to be frank with her little brother, to write of the actual state of her marriage and her relationship with her children, and to ask for his help.</p><p>Her pride disliked the notion intensely, but what other choice would be there?</p><p>Or rather, what other choice but one?</p><p>And so, inevitably, she thought of Lady Elinor’s suggestion as well. Would that be a better or worse option than returning to Riverrun in shame? It was not that a marriage to Petyr would be terrible. Lady Elinor was right, it would have been comfortable and easy in many ways. But Riverrun…She would be home there, at least. It would be better, so much better, than her life in the North had been. She would lose much by becoming simply a widow in her brother’s home, but she would lose just as much, though different things, by becoming simply Lady Baelish. But one of these choices left her at home. Surely, she could learn to live with that loss, and the dissatisfaction that would come from it, for the rest of her life, in the safe embrace of the Riverlands?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Bran IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bran eavesdrops on an important conversation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Y’all are gonna love this lol. (By which, as usual, I mean that you’re going to hate it so much.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mice, as it turned out, were as different from direwolves when it came to warging them as they were in anything else.</p>
<p>Bran knew with complete certainty that if he suddenly met another direwolf in the forest, he would never be able to warg it. Even Grey Wind seemed impossible, though that was mostly because Bran really disliked the idea. He was certain enough that had he wished to, he could have actually slipped in Grey Wind’s mind, but that was because Grey Wind already knew him and trusted him – and because he was used to his mind being shared by Robb, the three-eyed crow insisted. It claimed that it made warging anything easier, when the animal was familiar with the feeling.</p>
<p>Mice, though...well, apparently when one slipped into one of their minds, it was then very easy to slip into a mind of any other mouse in the world.</p>
<p>Or at least in Winterfell and around. Bran really wouldn’t know about anywhere else.</p>
<p>Bran didn’t understand why, and the crow had not been able to explain it properly – he hardly ever explained anything properly – and Jojen had been no help at all. Bran hoped it didn’t mean he had a particular talent for mice. Who would want to have a talent for mice? Direwolves sounded much better.</p>
<p>Bran sometimes felt he was betraying Summer with his newfound ability to warg mice, and the wolf was of course still his favourite and the easiest to slip into, but the trouble was, he was just too obvious. Everyone noticed him around, and he either made people uneasy or, in case of Robb, they knew there could be Bran listening inside of him and so if he wanted to keep something secret from him, he moved somewhere else.</p>
<p>The little mice Bran had learnt to see through, though...their eyes weren’t very good, but their ears served him perfectly well, and no one ever noticed them – except for cats, and then Bran always had to escape their minds as fast as he could. Jojen had given him terrible warnings about people who died while warging. Bran knew it would be safer to warg some bigger animals that didn’t die so easily, but they were simply not as useful for finding out secrets, so he kept the fact that he could warg mice from Jojen and everyone else and tried to be careful.</p>
<p>And right now, he simply needed to be a mouse.</p>
<p>Usually when he spied, it was to find out possible secrets for Robb, but now it was different.</p>
<p>Robb had received a raven, and had acted all serious and called Maester Luwin, Vayon Poole, Jory Cassel and Wynafryd to him, and that meant it was important. No one ever told Bran anything, but he was Robb’s heir still, and he needed to know.</p>
<p>And so he slipped into a little mouse’s mind, slipped into the room, and listened.</p>
<p>“My sister wrote from King’s Landing,” Robb began in a tone Bran called his Lord voice. Their father used to have one like that, too, Bran remembered.</p>
<p>“If I understand the meaning behind her words right,” Robb continued, “she writes to tell me that Lady Catelyn has...given her favour to Lord Baelish, the King’s Master of Coin, and that her loyalties no longer lie with House Stark, if they ever did.”</p>
<p>There was a murmur among those gathered, and a shifting that the mouse’s low eyes mostly noticed as moving feet. Bran was not completely sure what Robb meant by giving favour, but it seemed it was something bad. Definitely not just that silly thing southerners did at tourneys. Their mother was always doing bad things, but this sounded worse than usual.</p>
<p>“Has there been any proof?” Maester Luwin asked carefully.</p>
<p>Robb gave a bitter laugh. “From what my sister writes, it seems she has been informed by someone very well respected in King’s Landing.”</p>
<p>“I beg your pardon, my lord,” and the maester sounded even more careful now, his feet moving again, “but however respected, the person also may be mistaken. They might have only heard a rumour, and rumour is not always based in truth. Your mother might be simply slandered. The capital is, after all, a nest of vipers...”</p>
<p>“Do you believe my sister would write to me if she did not find those rumours trustworthy?” Robb asked, and he sounded…angry, almost, or upset in some way at least. Bran tried to see hi face to read his expression, but the mouse’s eyes were at a very awkward angle for it.</p>
<p>“Your sister is only twelve, my lord,” the maester returned, still in that carefully polite tone.</p>
<p>Robb frowned at that. “Jon and Aunt Barbrey are also there,” he said after a moment of hesitation. “I know she must have consulted them before writing to me.”</p>
<p>The maester opened his mouth, then closed it again. Once more, his feet moved.</p>
<p>“Say what you meant to say,” Lord Poole grumbled at him. “I can see you wanting to defend Lady Catelyn and slander Jon and Lady Dustin. You should decide where your loyalties lie.”</p>
<p>“I’m sure the maester only means to be cautious,” Wynafryd interjected, and her voice carried the same careful tone as Luwin’s now. “I, as a woman, can only imagine the horror if such accusations ever started about me and were untrue. However, if they are true...” She shook her head. “Neither of these possibilities should be taken lightly, that is what my heart tells me.”</p>
<p>“My lady speaks wisely,” Robb immediately agreed. “There could be great injustice done to my mother if I jumped to conclusions too fast.”</p>
<p>Bran heard a smothered laugh, but he didn’t know from whom or what it was about as the stupid mouse still saw mostly feet, as much as Bran tried to move around the room to get a better angle. Then, Jory said: “I understand why you’d be offended, my lord, but…wouldn’t this be best for everyone, if it was true?”</p>
<p>“What do you mean?” Robb asked, sounding confused now.</p>
<p>“May I speak frankly?” Jory asked after a moment of hesitation.</p>
<p>“Of course,” Robb immediately gave him leave.</p>
<p>“Your lady mother was not happy a single day of the time she spent in Winterfell, and the people of Winterfell were not happy to serve under her as their lady. We all look forward to Lady Wynafryd’s care,” and Bran’s mouse was now at least in a good enough position to see part of Jory’s body and realise he was making a slight bow in Wynafryd’s direction, “and can feel the difference in our bones. Of course, even if Lady Catelyn returned she would not be the Lady of Winterfell any more, but still, there could be…tension. She had her ideas of how things should be done, and without meaning any offence, my lady,” another bow to Wynafryd, “you have had your southern influences, and with Lady Catelyn back here, she might try her best to convince you to her side, and perhaps even succeed. That’s what folk would fear, at any rate. If she was to become Lady Baelish, well, any claim she might have on any rights in the North would be gone, and that would be it.”</p>
<p>There was a very long silence.</p>
<p>“I apologise to my lord if I have offended,” Jory muttered then,</p>
<p>“No,” Robb said, but his voice sounded tense. “No, it is…all right. However, I will have to…think on your words. Meanwhile, there is more my sister writes. She implies that there are different theories about my father’s death in King’s Landing. The one the king believes, apparently, is Father being killed as part of Targaryen revenge. My sister hints that they are not as certain of this, and that they now tend to believe that my lord father had discovered a plot unrelated to us and was killed for his knowledge.” Robb took a deep breath. “She also implies that the possibility of my lady mother having part in the murder was brought up, but that while it remains, they do not believe it to be generally likely.”</p>
<p>There were sharp intakes of breath around the room, and Bran himself was horrified. Surely, his mother would not do such a thing? He immediately comforted himself with Robb saying it was unlikely. He tried once more to see the expressions on everyone’s faces, and was able to catch a few frowns as his brother went on: “I want to avenge my father’s murder,” he said. “However, I also have to face the situation as it stands. Whatever my family believes, it is clear that they have no proof, nor immediate hopes of finding it. There are five days left until the tourney of the prince’s name day, until which my sister and the others are obliged to remain. It is very clear from my sister’s letters that she does not wish to stay longer. The king still hopes for a betrothal, and she does not wish to give any indication at she longs for it as well, and staying longer could be read that way. Lady Catelyn has been pressing her into the betrothal very hard, and it is…wearing on my sister heavily. In fact, in this last letter she begged me to be allowed to return home. There is no more time to continue the investigation without endangering her.” Robb took a deep breath, seeming to steel himself about something, then said: “From what we know so far, it seems my father’s murder had been no plot against House Stark. Under the circumstances, I mean to send for my brother and sister and Lady Dustin, and have them return, to witness my wedding. After I speak to them in person and discover more details, I will decide whether to pursue this matter further, unless anyone has any strong, well-argued objections to this course of action. What I am unsure about is what to do about my lady mother.”</p>
<p>There was a surprised silence around the room as the gathered people absorbed the information.</p>
<p>Maester Luwin spoke first. “The news of this monstrous suspicion,” he said, his feet shifting again, “makes me agree with Ser Jory. If there is such a rumour about Lady Catelyn…I firmly believe it to be a vicious slander, but should a word of it ever reach any of the northern lords…they would vie for Lady Catelyn’s blood. Her becoming Lady Baelish would put her safely out of their reach, and make them be concerned with her less.”</p>
<p>Vayon Poole snorted. “I’m not even surprised that it is her whose safety you’re concern with first.”</p>
<p>“Until she marries, she is still a Stark,” the maester said reprovingly. “Whatever she does, whatever fate befalls her, reflects on Lord Stark in a way.”</p>
<p>Lord Poole muttered something under his breath, but Bran’s attention was drawn to Wynafryd instead, who said quietly: “My lord, you told me that your mother was childhood friends with Lord Baelish, do I remember correctly?”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Robb said slowly.</p>
<p>“Then perhaps…even if this is just a vicious rumour, and your mother had never had anything but feelings of friendship for Lord Baelish, she might not be unhappy in such a union. Jory makes a good point, that she was not happy here. Perhaps, if she were to become Lady Baelish, you would be able to meet with her without any fears about how the bannermen would react, have her visit or visit her in time. I know the idea is…new and unpleasant, my lord, but in the end, it might lead to the most happiness of everyone concerned.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m all for it,” Vayon Poole added. “It’s like Jory said, and my lady Wynafryd of course, better for everyone.”</p>
<p>Was it? Bran thought about it. He wasn’t sure what he felt, and it was always a little messy trying to think about anything too deep while he was warging, especially into mice. What he knew, as a mouse, was this: he still missed his mother’s hugs sometimes, to his shame, but less so since Jojen and Meera arrived, and he thought that once Aunt Barbrey and Sansa and Jon came back, he would not miss them any more, not at all. And his mother, he’d always felt, belonged in the south.</p>
<p>“And you’re right, too, my lord,” Poole continued, “about calling them back from the south. They’d been there long enough. If the king says Lord Eddard was killed by Targaryens, it might well be true - it would be like them, would it not?”</p>
<p>“It would,” Jory said darkly.</p>
<p>“So we will listen to what Lady Dustin has to say,” Poole continued. “The maester is right, at least, in that your sister is only twelve, and she might have misunderstood something. Lady Dustin will tell you exactly what she found out, and then you will know if you need to do more to avenge your father.”</p>
<p>There was a long silence, and movement that Bran thought, from his awkward vantage point, were nods, and then Robb said: “Very well. First, I trust you all know that the suspicion about my mother cannot leave this room?”</p>
<p>There were mutters of ‘of course, my lord’ all around. Bran moved again. It seemed Robb was about to pronounce his decision, and Bran really wanted to try and see everyone’s faces to know how they felt about it. Perhaps this could turn into useful spying for Robb after all - he might notice something Robb didn’t!</p>
<p>“Well, then,” Robb said. “I will call my sister, brother and Lady Dustin back, and instruct my mother to stay on in the capital, promising to provide for her but at the same time making it clear that if she wished to marry again, she has my blessing. If her….allegiance has truly changed, I suppose we will know soon enough.” He looked around the room. “Do you agree? Do any of you have any further suggestions?”</p>
<p>Bran scurried as close tot he wall and the window as he could, to get the best possible angle of view of their faces, straining his ears to hear who spoke first and what would they say all the while.</p>
<p>That was why he only noticed the movement on the windowsill too late.</p>
<p>There had been a cat in the room the whole time, sleeping in the sunbeam coming in through the glass.</p>
<p>Now, it seemed, it had woken up.</p>
<p>It stretched, and jumped down from the window, and Bran, panicking and forgetting at first that he was meant to return to his own mind, scurried across the room. But the cat was much faster, and was upon him in no time, swiping its paw.</p>
<p>His panic grew stronger, because he knew now that he needed to return to his own mind, but he struggled between that and preserving the mouse’s life, as its instinct led him. He threw himself to the side at the same time as he tried to escape into his own body, and just before he opened his eyes in the godswood, he felt a searing pain in where his leg joined his body.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Tyrion VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tyrion goes on a ride and has a family member visit.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There were only two days left to Joffrey‘s name day tourney, and Tyrion knew it meant the Starks would be leaving soon. Perhaps in a week, perhaps in two, but he was certain they would not stay in the south for much longer than necessary, not unless the king ordered them at least, and Jon Snow seemed to have wrapped the king around his finger enough that he could probably prevent that from happening.</p>
<p>That meant Tyrion had to close his business with them and make certain his channel of communication with them stayed open. Just a day or so ago, Lady Dustin had told him that his brother learnt to warg other animals beside his wolf, something that Bloodraven’s writing indicated was extremely rare. Most wargs, he claimed, only ever had one animal. But then the boy saw a three-eyed raven in his dreams. He was bound to be special, even more so than his other siblings, whose wolf dreams apparently continued unhindered.</p>
<p>Tyrion would not miss this development for the world.</p>
<p>So he rode out with Lady Dustin again, and once they were alone, he shared Varys’ information about the Tears of Lys. He was certain the eunuch wouldn’t be too happy with him for it, but his displeasure was certainly worth continued source of information on northern magic. The more Tyrion gave Lady Dustin, the more obliged she would feel to keep him informed even after they were no longer in the same city.</p>
<p>To his surprise, when he gave her the information about the poison, she smiled. “Ned found out much he same just before he died,” she said, “I know not how. But it is good of you to tell me, my lord, for now I at least know I truly can trust what you say, and that you are not leading me astray.”</p>
<p>Had Tyrion had more of a conscience, he might have been ashamed of himself then. As it was, though, he simply bowed. “Your trust honours me, my lady,” he said with softy irony, and she laughed in appreciation.</p>
<p>“Now, do not be like that,” she said. “It’s nothing personal, you know I suspect everyone.”</p>
<p>Tyrion nodded good-naturedly enough - given that he <i>was</i> lying to her, he could hardly blame her - and they rode side by side in silence for a moment, until they spotted the tourney grounds in the distance. He was surprised she didn’t ride off immediately once their exchange of information was concluded, as she tended to do, but he supposed that she might, by now, be fed up enough with the city that she appreciated every moment away from it.</p>
<p>“Tell me, do you have a favourite for the tourney?” Tyrion asked her idly, wondering if she even had any idea who the champions were.</p>
<p>Unsurprisingly, she scoffed. “I could not care less about such follies.” There was a small pause. “Why, do you?”</p>
<p>Tyrion grinned at her. “I should say my brother, and I will bet on him – if Ser Loras does not make it to King’s Landing by the time the tourney starts! But, truth be told, I think the Long Night would have to come before he would miss a tourney,” and that hyperbole sounded much less humorous now after his visit to the Wall and his letter from Maester Aemon, “and if he does arrive, well, he is the best jouster by far, especially after the Mountain, with his brute strength advantage, had been banned from competing in King’s Tourneys after his last showing. So on Ser Loras my money will go.”</p>
<p>She gave him an arch look. “Such little faith in your family you have!”</p>
<p>You have no idea, he thought grimly. “Will you bet on yours?” He wondered aloud.</p>
<p>She grimaced. “Do not even remind me. The folly of this whole thing! The boy is not sixteen yet, for crying out loud!”</p>
<p>“That is why it is only a squires’ melee,” Tyrion pointed out.</p>
<p>“Have you seen some of those squires?” She asked him. “Because I have. They are in their twenties, and wearing heavy armour.”</p>
<p>“And some are barely in their teens,” Tyrion countered.</p>
<p>She waved her hand. “Yes, it is not them I am worried about. But the older ones...I know it is possible they have not been knighted yet simply because they are bad at fighting, but it might also be because there is some fault with their behaviour, I’ve been let know. So am I to expect a particularly brutal, sadistic men in their twenties fighting Jon?”</p>
<p>Tyrion shook his head, nearly laughing. “Who told you this?” He wondered.</p>
<p>“Sansa did, or rather Sansa’s friend,” Lady Dustin admitted reluctantly after a moment.</p>
<p>This time Tyrion did laugh. “You should not get your information from children. Yes, in theory it is possible, but in practice no one is kept from knighthood for bad behaviour. Lack of funds, though? Absolutely. So, as sorry as I am to tell you, Jon might simply be fighting competent poor men.”</p>
<p>Lady Dustin sighed. “Well, at least they will have worse armour and weapons,” she muttered, then shook her head. “I should have known. I do my best with Sansa, but sometimes there are still those romantic notions stuck in her head, and the stories she builds in her imagination are too much for my comfort.”</p>
<p>“I have seen your protege make great progress since I first saw her,” Tyrion assured her gallantly. He wasn’t even really lying, or not much at least, and he didn’t think it was fair to measure people’s ruthlessness against his sister, or some other sharks of King’s Landing.</p>
<p>“I did what I could,” Lady Dustin said with a sigh, “but I spent her whole life preparing her to be a Northern woman. The entire southern preparation was rather...rushed, I comparison, and something I was much less qualified for.”</p>
<p>“Trust me, my lady, no one could tell.”</p>
<p>That much was completely true. Sansa Stark might not quite have the edge needed to play the game of thrones, at least not when talking to anyone but Lady Catelyn, but she certainly had all her courtesies down to pat.</p>
<p>“They both worry me,” she admitted, and he was rather surprised at her honesty before he realised that she likely had no one else to talk to about this, or at least no one who wasn’t one of the children. Even drunk whoremonger of a dwarf might be an acceptable confidant, after monhs of being left alone with her worries. “Sansa for this and...other reasons, and Jon with the melee. I know he could not refuse the king, but...he’s good with a sword, I know he is, and I know boys have to be bloodied somewhere, but in the North, it’s usually in a skirmish with a daring group of wildlings, or some ironborn who tried to play at the old ways in one half-sinking ship...not against a field full of trained men in good steel.”</p>
<p>So much for the northern honour, Tyrion couldn’t help but think. Apparently, it was the notion of a fair fight she objected to.</p>
<p>“The purpose of a melee is not to kill,” he pointed out. “Surely that should be reassuring?”</p>
<p>She scoffed. “I know how often that doesn’t work out,” she replied. “Ned died in this city, and we still don’t know why for certain, or who was plotting against him. Jon will be vulnerable in that fight. Anyone who wants to harm us in any way? This would be their best opportunity.”</p>
<p>On one hand, Tyrion had to admit she was right. On the other… “Without meaning offence, are you certain it would be Jon Snow who they targeted?”</p>
<p>“They might target him precisely because he is a bastard, to take him down a peg,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I have seen how they speak of him, how many are enraged that the king gives his time to a northern bastard. Whichever way you look at it, this is a risk for Jon.”</p>
<p>Well, there wasn’t much Tyrion could say to that. It had nothing to do with any assassination plots on Ned Stark, but it could, in truth, be just as dangerous. If nothing else, Lady Stark’s relationship with the rest of ehr family seemed to have deteriorated even further in the last few days, and she was even publicly rude to Lady Dustin now, in her cold, distant way. She didn’t seem the type to try and arrange for an accident for Jon Snow, but who could guarantee Littlefinger wouldn’t try it instead, just to please the lady of his dreams?</p>
<p>Tyrion was preparing a way to placate Lady Dustin as they were heading towards the city gates when he spotted a flash of red in the distance, and squinted.</p>
<p>“Your head is considerably higher than mine,” he said, turning to Lady Dustin, “so please tell me, my lady, are those Lannister banners I see?” He fought to keep his tone light, but was not entirely certain he succeeded.</p>
<p>She looked in the same direction. “They’re certainly very red,” she said, “but I am not sure if I see a lion.”</p>
<p>“If they’re red, they’re Lannister,” Tyrion said grimly. There was too many of them for any minor house. Had Father come to the city, in spite of everything? Should Tyrion just turn on his heel and ride away?</p>
<p>He steeled himself and said: “If you will forgive me, my lady, I have to go and welcome my house.”</p>
<p>“Of course, my lord,” she said with an incline of her head, and Tyrion motioned to his guards and rode forward.</p>
<p>His stomach was churning by the time he reached the Lannister contingent, and his relief when he saw Uncle Kevan instead of his father under the heaviest banner was profound.</p>
<p>“Uncle!” he called, rising his hand as if that would to him much good at drawing attention, given how short it was.</p>
<p>Nevertheless, Kevan heard him and turned, and even smiled a little when he saw him. “Tyrion,” he said. Then he blinked, and asked in surprise: “You have been riding?”</p>
<p>“Yes, I have acquired taste for it in the North,” Tyrion replied and shuddered at the thought that he would have to continue the custom even once he returned to Casterly Rock to maintain the fiction. It took ages to get away from the Rock to anywhere one even <i>could</i> ride. “Are you here for the tourney?”</p>
<p>“Among other things,” Kevan replied, and Tyrion felt a grim shudder of premonition.</p>
<p>“How have things been in the West?” He asked instead of trying to pry, knowing it would do no good with his uncle.</p>
<p>“Tense,” Kevan Lannister replied plainly. “You know your father is expecting to be appointed Hand, and is displeased it hasn’t happened yet. And he is angry with you, too, Tyrion.”</p>
<p>Tyrion winced. “Well, when isn’t he?” He tried to say cheerfully.</p>
<p>“Now more so than usual. I’ve managed to convince him he doesn’t need to come get you in person, but he is deeply displeased with your behaviour here.”</p>
<p>Did his father no longer believe the explanation Tyrion had sent him, or did he no longer care?</p>
<p>“He wants you back home,” Kevan Lannister added.</p>
<p>Unfortunately for Lord Tywin, Tyrion had not been in Casterly Rock for a year and half of another, and the longer he stayed away, the less willing he was to subject himself to his father’s company again, especially now that he actually knew his father was angry at him. “I’m sure he does,” Tyrion told his uncle vaguely, and did his best to ignore the answering frown. He knew his father’s anger was a problem he would have to deal with eventually, but he would much rather avoid it for some time still. After all, in his experience, once Lord Tywin’s anger reached certain treshold, it didn’t matter what one did after, one could not really make it worse for oneself. And with Tyrion, that threshold was very low, and very easy to reach. Likely, it made little difference if he headed to Casterly Rock on the morrow or dithered for another year, the consequences he faced would be much the same.</p>
<p>But he certainly did not plan to share these thoughts with his uncle. Lord Tywin would hear, and <i>then</i> the consequences would be worse. So instead, he asked after Uncle’s family, and they spoke about his children until they reached the Red Keep.</p>
<p>Tyrion’s premonition regarding Uncle’s time int he capital came true that very evening.</p>
<p>The king held a feast to welcome Lord Kevan, which was natural and expected. What was rather less natural, and made Tyrion wince, in fact, was that he chose that feast to publicly announce that the Targaryens were behind the assassination of the two previous Hands, and that Renly, for his assistance in the investigation, would be named a permanent Hand of the King.</p>
<p>His father was going to be furious. Tyrion didn’t doubt that Kevan was sent into town partly to find out what the plans regarding the position were, and he wondered whether Kevan had already spoken to the king about it and that was why Robert chose to make the announcement now. It would be in character, if Kevan had somehow offended him…and the king was an easy man to offend lately.</p>
<p>Littlefinger was about to get a new and better lordship out of it too, apparently, as House Rosby was named as the chief co-conspirator of the Targaryen plot. Lord Gyles had already been detained and was awaiting his trial in the black cells.</p>
<p>Well, if Tyrion needed to know who was behind the idea of the Targaryen plot, here was his answer.</p>
<p>He couldn’t deny it was genius of Littlefinger: Lord Gyles had no heirs, so taking the seat from him and giving it to Littlefinger would not be too controversial - there would be no sons and brothers to loudly protest. And Rosby was a very good and valuable seat for being a minor house, advantageously situated. Certainly better than whatever shack Baelish owned in the Vale.</p>
<p>It was just a little bit ridiculous, of course - with houses like Velaryons and Celtigars, who had Valyrian blood and whose loyalty to the Targaryens was an open secret, accusing the Rosbys…but the king seemed satisfied enough, at least, and Littlefinger got a cushy little seat out of it. Tyrion could only hope this would be the end of the matter, and the king would slowly return to sanity.</p>
<p>Though he was still very curious about the trial, and could not help but wonder if Littlefinger had presented the Targaryen answer to the king simply because he considered it a convenient way to get a new lordship or if he was actually cleaning up his own mess.</p>
<p>Perhaps Tyrion would stay in the capital a little while longer and do some more investigation after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>A note on the different lordships: GRRM himself has admitted that calling everyone a lord was idiotic of him. Basically, I imagine Westeros working with  four rough levels of lordship: kingdom-tier lordships (= the old kings, now Lords Paramount), then what I’ll call duchy-tier (=the really important minor houses like Hightowers and Freys etc, in the North eg Umbers and Karstarks), earldom-tier (eg Dustins and Ryswells in the North) and county-tier (eg Ramsgate in the North). I imagine the Baelish Keep being county tier, and Rosby being earldom tier. It seems there are only three levels of vassalage - Lords Paramount swear to the king, minor lords swear to the lords paramount, and then the duchy tier lords have vassals of their own, of the county-tier kind, though it also seems some county-tier lords can be sworn directly to a lord paramount. It’s messy, but that part is completely realistic, this is how it historically worked, basically, only everyone wasn’t just called a lord.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Catelyn V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A letter and a confrontation.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So, you know how I kept talking about Cat reaching her low point soon? So, this is it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Petyr would be the Lord of Rosby now.</p>
<p>It was a strange feeling.</p>
<p>Of course he had been a lord in his own right for years now, but the Baelish Keep was the smallest, most insignificant of seats a lord could have. He would have been barely above an unlanded knight, if it wasn’t for his seat on the royal council. </p>
<p>Rosby, on the other hand, was far from an insignificant seat.</p>
<p>Catelyn was happy for him, she genuinely was, but shamefully, she also felt an edge of worry.</p>
<p>Petyr had been devoting much of his time to ensuring her security and comfort. Now, as Lord of Rosby, he would have other things to take his attention, and naturally it would mean he would have less time.</p>
<p>Catelyn would simply have to manage without him…somehow.</p>
<p>Inevitably, she thought of Lady Elinor’s suggestion once more. It would be somewhat more acceptable now, of course, but still, the idea made her a little uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because she had known Petyr for so long, or perhaps because…well, after loving her for so long resigned to her disinterest, he would hardly ask. It would have to be her who spoke on her own behalf, and that seemed entirely too mortifying, especially as he would know she was asking out of desperation.</p>
<p>No, she would not choose that way. She would speak to her daughter once more, and try, and try again, as much as it cost her, and as much as she was beginning, in some hidden corners of her mind, to dread the idea of Sansa staying in King’s Landing.</p>
<p>Catelyn would not have believed, even a fortnight ago, that she would ever reach the point when she would like the idea of her daughter‘s departure, with the possibility of never seeing her again, and yet here it was.</p>
<p>Sansa was now downright insulting in her behaviour towards her, constantly so, and the court had begun to notice. What position she had managed to build for herself was crumbling as people started to take note. Catelyn’s own friends now looked upon her with pity.</p>
<p>It was difficult not to despise Sansa for it.</p>
<p>Petyr was as amazing as always, stopped touching her at all in fear that her daughter would spot them and misconstrue the situation, offered to refrain from seeing her entirely until the northern party departed in the hopes that it would help placate Sansa. But Catelyn had steel in her spine. She had not bent to her husband’s unjust demands, and she would not bend to her daughter’s either, especially knowing Lady Dustin was behind them. She knew right was on her side, and that was enough for her to hold her head high.</p>
<p>But still, she could not wait for this situation to be over and for the court to find something new to obsess about, as Petyr promised her would happen.</p>
<p>There was also the tourney to see. It was tomorrow, and Catelyn promised herself she would not let the whispers ruin her enjoyment of it, as she had not let her husband’s presence ruin the last one. It had been too long since she had been allowed such a thing as a tourney every half a year, and she deserved to have some compensation for her years of wilting in the North.</p>
<p>She had kept considering what to do in case she failed with Sansa and the whole northern party left, which, she had to admit to herself by now, was very likely. It still seemed to her Riverrun would be her best option, unappealing as it was in some ways. There had been no word from Robb to her yet, but he had also not replied to her last raven, asking for details on his wedding arrangements, and Catelyn had unpleasant ideas about what it meant and what Sansa might have written to him. If she had written something, and Robb believed her, then Catelyn needed to make her own arrangements. She would not beg. She would write to Edmure, and she would tell him she was coming to visit, and once she did she would explain everything in person. She could not bear the shame of the Riverrun maester reading about her situation. She had considered including hints, at least, but Petyr had cautioned against it. She did not know who the maester at Riverrun was, after all, did not know if he gossipped or how loyal he was, and Petyr, with caution bred from his years in the capital, told her that maesters especially could often divide much even from a few brief words. So she would say nothing, simply announce a visit, one she had hinted at before – hope he did not wonder why she did not travel with the northern party too much – and tell him in person.</p>
<p>She just sat down to put the plan into action - after all, if, miraculously, she managed to convince Sansa still, she could simply go to Riverrun to see her father, as she meant to tell Edmure she would - when there was a knock at the door of her solar, and a servant entered with a raven message.</p>
<p>She took it, scanned it quickly, and paled, tears springing into her eyes.</p>
<p><i>Dearest Cat</i>, it read, <i>I had hoped to welcome you at Riverrun when you proceed North with your husband’s bones, but now I am sorry to say this will be impossible. There is some urgent and serious trouble with the Freys – who else – and unfortunately it requires my personal presence at the Twins soon, and there is no telling how long it will take me to resolve. It is unlikely I would be back at Riverrun by the time you would be there, or even anywhere near the King’s Road in the area. The best I can hope for is meeting you on the way somewhere near the Twins, but even that is uncertain. I do not know much about this matter with the Freys yet, but it seems to be very complicated, and there are even hints that it might connect back to other regions of the Seven Kingdoms. I am afraid it will take a very long time. My deepest apologies, and I hope you will descend from the North again and we will have a chance to meet. Your loving brother, Edmure.</i></p>
<p>Catelyn stared at the message, and for a moment wanted to scream in frustration. Of course. Of course late Walder Frey would come up with some issue or another just when she needed her brother’s help the most. Of course this one chance she had had to come crashing down around her as well.</p>
<p>What was she to do now, she wondered as she tried to blink her tears of worry and frustration away.</p>
<p>She could not go to Riverrun without Edmure there, she knew that much. Her Father was now reportedly sleeping half the time, and the other half confused, uncertain who he was speaking to. He could not help her. She could of course, arrive unannounced, but...then what? Force her brother to return from whatever mischief the Freys were preparing? That could well be fatal. She knew where to be wary. No, she would simply have to stay in the capital for a little longer, and hope that there was some way to do it without running out of funds. The king’s love for Lord Stark at least, should serve enough that she would not be forced out of the Red Keep. If she was, she truly would not have any choice but to go to Riverrun, and risk her brother’s business.</p>
<p>She could, of course, try to convince him that there was no need for him to rush back for her presence, but…could she know for certain she would succeed? Was she willing to risk the fate of the Riverlands for this? And even if she managed to keep him away… There was no one left in Riverrun she knew, except perhaps some old servants. With every day she stayed there and Edmure was not present, the looks she received would get stranger, more pitying or suspicious or…</p>
<p>No. She wiped the tears from her eyes and told herself determinedly: Unless she was forced out, she was staying here.</p>
<p>Still, Catelyn was frustrated and tired and angry and at the end of her rope when she went to see Sansa to make one last, futile attempt at convincing her. Sansa was not in her rooms, and it was only then that Catelyn remembered that she had been out hawking with Prince Joffrey.</p>
<p>That was something, at least, and Catelyn clung to it as she headed out of the Tower of the Hand to go to the Sept for some calm.</p>
<p>The moment she stepped out of the tower, however, she saw Sansa standing there, being embraced by Lady Dustin.</p>
<p>Catelyn’s hands began to shake.</p>
<p>It had been so long since she’d embraced any of her children, since leaving Winterfell in fact, and suddenly she felt it like a physical need, as if she would die if she could not hold her daughter in her arms once again.</p>
<p>She stepped closer to them, not even thinking about what she was doing, and that was when she heard what Lady Dustin was saying quietly to Sansa. “You will not have to marry him, you will not,” she was insisting. “I promise you this, my sweet, we will save you from him, we will find a way, he will not have you-”</p>
<p>That was when the cup of Catelyn’s patience ran over.</p>
<p>“How dare you,” she said quietly.</p>
<p>Her daughter and the Dustin woman both turned to her, not having seen her before then.</p>
<p>“How dare you,” Catelyn repeated more loudly, and the Dustin woman’s eyes narrowed. Catelyn had seen her look at her with hatred plenty of times before, but never this intensely.</p>
<p>She ignored it.</p>
<p>“Who do you think you are,” she said, now so loud she was nearly shouting, “to try and ruin my daughter’s future! Whispering your poison into her ears, turning her against me, against her own family, against the prince! Get out, get out of this tower, I will not have you here anymore-”</p>
<p>“No.”</p>
<p>The word, loud and sharp as a whip, came from Sansa.</p>
<p>She moved to stand in front of the Dustin whore, and there was steel in her eyes.</p>
<p>“You are not the Lady of Winterfell any more,” she said, in a clear voice that carried enough for the whole courtyard to hear, and people were turning to stare openly now. “I am done with tolerating your attempts to humiliate the woman who is more of a mother to me that you ever were. If someone will be leaving the Tower, it will be you.”</p>
<p>“I am still the widow of Lord Stark-”</p>
<p>“And I am the last lord’s daughter, and this one’s sister. You just publicly insulted his most loyal bannerwoman and accused her of plotting against the prince when she was only offering me comfort when I was upset after a misunderstanding. The bannerwoman, I might add, that was promised by your liege lord and son the full comfort of Stark hospitality in this city, something you have consistently denied her. I have stayed silent until now, not wishing to air our family laundry in public, but if you wish for a scandal, then let there be scandal. You can try having her escorted from the Tower, and you will see who the guards are loyal to.”</p>
<p>Catelyn was trembling. Sansa’s eyes were still like steel, and behind her, the Dustin whore was watching Catelyn with hawk-like eyes.</p>
<p>“Give up this fight, my lady of Tully,” she said then, her choice of title obvious. “It is too late to win it by far.”</p>
<p>In that moment, Catelyn lost all control of herself, and screamed as she reached out a hand in a slap. “Get out,” she shouted, “you whore, get away from my daughter-”</p>
<p>The Dustin whore stepped away, so that her hand barely glanced her.</p>
<p>“Duels had been fought for less then hitting a lord in the face,” she said then, her voice, impossibly, even colder. “But I do not wish to see anyone dead over this.”</p>
<p>“Neither do I,” Sansa agreed, and turning to Catelyn, added: “so I say to you what you tried to say to Lady Dustin before: go now. Leave, and will never speak of this again. Leave, and I will not try to bring this matter to Lord Stark’s attention. Leave.”</p>
<p>Catelyn, shaking, fled into Petyr’s rooms.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Barbrey IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The tourney for Joffrey's name day.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Barbrey faced her first southern tourney on barely a wink of sleep, exhausted and her mind still churning about the disaster of the previous day.</p><p>It wasn’t as if the confrontation with the Tully woman was not a relief in some ways, even though it certainly shouldn’t have been.</p><p>There was nothing good about a confrontation like that for House Stark, and it was always shaming for anyone to be involved in something like that, even those who weren’t in the wrong. It was especially so when it happened at a southern court</p><p>It was simply that…Barbrey had been sitting in place, waiting for something to happen, for so long. Whatever way the tension boiled over was preferable to her than had it continued, as much as she knew it was not a reasonable approach.</p><p>It was also a relief, not to have the Tully woman in the tower where they stayed any more.</p><p>Sansa had immediately moved Barbrey and Jon to better, more comfortable rooms, even though they hopefully had only a few days left in the capital. Barbrey didn’t argue, chiefly because she suspected it was a distraction for Sansa - not only from the confrontation with her mother, but also from the terrible hawking trip with the prince that had just preceded it. Sansa had barely managed to retreat inside the tower before she broke down and cried for an hour straight after the Tully woman had finally left, and then had straightened and went to organise rooms. Barbrey would not begrudge her any way to make herself feel better about this horrible situation.</p><p>And then later that day, the king sent an inquiry about what happened, so Sansa had had to go and talk to him as well. She had returned tired and withdrawn, but at least she hadn’t cried again as she told Barbrey that the king seemed to be on their side, and that no unpleasantness seemed to be stemming from the Tully woman’s very loud hint about ‘turning Sansa against Joffrey’. Barbrey very much hoped it was true, and repeated to herself, over and over again, that they just needed to survive a few more days.</p><p>There was also, of course, the fact that she had been called a whore and slapped in public, by a woman who was formally speaking her superior. The humiliation of it burned bright, and if Sansa had not been present, it could have turned out very ugly for Barbrey. She had to repeatedly tell herself that she loved the children and demanding any harsher justice for herself would damage them, and once more remind herself that they would soon be going home.</p><p>And to make matters worse, because it all happened just one day before the tourney, she and Sansa both had to worry the whole event could distract Jon and lead to disaster. Thankfully he had not been present when the confrontation happened, they they had tried to downplay it as much as possible in their retelling, but still, one could never be too careful.</p><p>At least the Tully woman was too ashamed to show her face at the tourney, so Sansa would not be forced to tolerate her presence.</p><p>Instead, they sat together with Jon and Alyssa in the Stark box, the events a convenient distraction. It truly was a very large event with much fanfare around it, and as Barbrey watched the first tilts of her first southern tourney, it was impossible not to remember the Tourney of Harrenhall.</p><p>She’d not been there, of course – Lord Rickard would never allow his son’s lover to travel where she could meet his betrothed – but she’d heard so much about it, both before and after, that it had always been The Tourney to her mind, the beginning of the end. The idea of tourneys had therefore gained an almost sinister atmosphere. And perhaps the one in Harrenhall did have that, what with the Mad King being present.</p><p>The one here, though...the longer she watched, the more she could see that it was just southern pageantry, heaps of money being spent on nothing of import, empty-headed young fools strutting around like peacocks, showing off skill that would be little to no use in a fight. </p><p>The best of them were excellent riders though, she had to grant them that, and that was what she focused on in the tilts, the strengths of the seat of the riders, and it was what she commented upon to Jon and Sansa.</p><p>“That,” she said, “is the only useful part of this whole thing.”</p><p>Sansa frowned a little. “The display is useful politically, though, is it not?” She asked, glancing at Alyssa on her other side. “I mean, for the families who have sons to compete, it is a mark of prestige, I think...”</p><p>“Of course it is,” Barbrey agreed, proud that Sansa knew that much, “but that is only because the South pays any mind to such things. It would gain you no prestige in the North. It is important solely because the southerners believe it to be important. Do you see the difference?”</p><p>Sansa nodded. “You mean to say that even if no one though riding on a horse was important, a better rider could still defeat you in battle or escape from pursuit, regardless of anyone’s beliefs.”</p><p>“Precisely. If the dragons came back in force, well then, perhaps it would not be an important skill, but until then...”</p><p>Sansa nodded her understanding. “But it’s similar with the jousting, is it not?” She said then. “Just as dragons are unlikely to return, the south is unlikely to forget it places value on such things...”</p><p>Barbrey gave her a smile. Truly, Sansa had grown so much in the last half year. The reasons for it might be tragic, but Barbrey could still be proud of her, immensely proud. Especially so now, after that terrible experience with Joffrey and that scandal with her mother. Sansa might have cried her eyes out again the previous evening before she went to bed, but she was up to keeping her charming smile on and making excellent observations by the morning. It was admirable.  “You are right in that,” Barbrey said, “but it pays to pay attention to such differences because it teaches you what is transferable from one place to the next, and what is not. If we ever need to fight southern knights, it will be useful for Jon to know they are good riders. Their propensity to knock each other off horse with long wooden lances, on the other hand, is not much relevant for him.”</p><p>Sansa nodded and refocused on the riders, and Barbrey followed her example.</p><p>She knew Sansa liked the pageantry to a degree. She was young, after all, and Barbrey supposed she might have liked it too, had she seen it at twelve. But the girl, thankfully, had a good enough head on her shoulders that she saw her fancy for what it was, the pageantry for what it was as well, and did not assume it had any value beyond entertainment, and political gain in one was southern. In this, at least, the stay in the south had done Sansa good, ridding her of her remaining illusions and strengthening that core of steel Barbrey had always known she had.</p><p>Barbrey listened, half-distracted, as the next pair of jousters was announced, and frowned a little at one of the names.</p><p>“Brienne?” She muttered. “Did he truly say Brienne?”</p><p>“I have heard of this,” Jon, on her left, replied. “Some men in the training yard were making…distasteful jokes. Apparently, there is a woman knight in the South.”</p><p>Suddenly, Barbrey had much more interest in the proceedings.</p><p>The woman rode well. Her seat was not exceptional, but it was decent enough, and her fighting skill seemed strongly above average if Barbrey could be any judge. She won the joust relatively easily, but the cheers for her, Barbrey noticed, were much less enthusiastic than for the other winners. Barbrey made a face of disgust, and wished she was not bound by southern propriety to keep her composure. She wondered if she could find the woman among the knights later and speak to her, to congratulate her and perhaps give her some advice on her riding. Any southern woman who refused to bow to their ridiculous ideas about maidens and mothers should, Barbrey couldn’t help thinking, be encouraged, even though she still insisted on doing some absurd things, like tourneys.</p><p>She was disturbed from her thoughts when it was announced that the joust was over for the day, the final matches to take place on the morrow, and that it was time for the squire’s melee.</p><p>Barbrey had been doing her best not to think about it until now, as the fear that gripped her when she did was, she couldn’t help but think, shameful. But she still could not rid herself of that premonition that something would go wrong, that something terrible would happen.</p><p>For the umpteenth time, she hated the king for forcing Jon into this after what happened to Ned.</p><p>The space before the stands was cleared from the railing that separated riders in a tourney, and the squires began to gather. Jon rose, and she pressed his hand tightly. “Good luck,” she said, trying to smile, and he only nodded at her as Sansa tied her favour to his arm and whispered her more elaborate wishes to him.</p><p>Barbrey watched him go. It was true, what she had told Lord Tyrion: she would have been less afraid had he been going into a battle. There were no plots to worry about in battle. When you faced a group of wildlings or ironborn, you knew exactly what they wanted. It might be to see you dead, but still, there was no pretence involved, and you knew what to be ready for. Here, on the other hand, there was nothing but.</p><p>They’d had to lock Ghost in the Tower, for she was certain that he would never be able to placidly watch Jon getting attacked. Even Lady was restless.</p><p>There were about twenty squires competing in the melee, and at the referee’s word, they all spilt onto the space before the stands, spreading around, raising their swords and waiting, waiting…</p><p>And then at another signal, the fight began.</p><p>Barbrey had not been wrong: several of the young men immediately turned on Jon, eager to show him that a bastard had no place in such a competition. But the older squires she had been afraid of turned out to be the saving grace: they had more experience, and knew an opportunity when they saw it, so a few of them used the young ones’ distraction with Jon to get them out of the game early, allowing Jon to successfully fend of the attack of the rest.</p><p>When the dust from this first wave settled, there were about fifteen boys left in the field, and it turned into a more equal battle in pairs, everyone turning to those they came across without discriminating further. A few weak, young boys were eliminated next, and the remaining ten grew more ferocious. Jon received a blow to the side, and she barely stifled a gasp, but it seemed it was only glancing, as he straightened again almost immediately and eliminated his opponent in the next few strokes.</p><p>There were only six of them left on the field now, and so they formed three fighting pairs. Barbrey saw the one Jon was paired with: he was blond, if she saw the wisps of hair escaping from under his helm correctly, and wearing Lannister red. Her premonition grew.</p><p>The fight was brutal, and she could see how Jon had difficulty parrying the blows. It was also long, continuing through the other two pairs of squires finishing their fight and the two winners turning on each other. Jon’s side was clearly troubling him and he received several more glancing blows, getting slower and slower in this defence, until the moment he was hit in the head with strength.</p><p>Sansa next to her shouted, and this time Barbrey gasped loudly, and then once more when she saw Jon, falling to the ground, somehow managed to push the sword out of the Lannister squire’s hands and forcing him to yield before he apparently lost consciousness.</p><p>Healers rushed to him to get him off the field as the last remaining two squires fought a drawn out final duel, ending with victory for the one clad in colours Barbrey did not care enough to identify, who then bowed to the king.</p><p>Robert clapped and cheered voraciously, leading the rest of the crowd, before saying: “You’ve all fought very bravely!” Another wave of cheers. “Sadly, I cannot reward you all with knighthoods, but the first three, at least, certainly deserve the attention. Alyn Estermont, Harrold Hardyng and Jon Snow, come forward and receive your honours.”</p><p>Barbrey gripped the railing before her even as she heard Sansa gasp. She stared onto the field, her eyes unseeing as the anger rose in her and thoughts whirled in her head, alarmed and thrown out of their usual paths.</p><p>Had this been the goal the whole time, then? Had the king wanted to turn Jon into some southern knight? Did he mean to keep him at court with him once he did?</p><p>Barbrey was so furious at the idea she saw red, but what could she do, except sit in that pretty southern seat and grip the railing so hard it cracked?</p><p>“Aunt,” Sansa asked her urgently, “Aunt, what do we do?”</p><p>Barbrey watched as Jon, conscious but confused, had no choice but to kneel as the king descended from his seat and tapped a sword on all three boys’ shoulders – but only with Jon, he accompanied it with a hand on the other shoulder and a few words said to him.</p><p>“We see to it that Jon is healed, and then we finally go back home,” she said with emphasis. They had to run, before this place swallowed them whole.</p><p>Barbrey wished with all that she was that the king would choke on his kindness and die.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So when Hakujingomi suggested in the comments that Jon would get a knighthood and a keep in the Riverlands…they were half right lol. Also can you tell I really hate writing action sequences? </p><p>Next up: Harry the Heir, among other things.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Sansa V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Robb's letter arrives.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is where the closing arc of this book starts. Also, as you’ve probably noticed, I’m back to everyday updates - I want to finish this installment, as I’ve been owing chapters on my other projects for way too long!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In many ways, Sansa had been disappointed with her first southern tourney.</p>
<p>She’d never have admitted it, but secretly, she had liked the idea of them just the smallest bit before she came south. She knew they were a southern frivolity, but she remembered, from when she was very little, her mother telling her stories about them, and then Aly had renewed those memories, and Myranda too, really, and in a very secret, very hidden corner of her mind Sansa had wanted to see all the fairytale beauty.</p>
<p>And much of it was beautiful, the rich knights in their colourful armour, the noble horses, the ladies in expensive dresses. But it was also ugly and bloody, and not in a way she’d imagined it would be. In the stories, victories in tourneys were always noble, not stronger, much more experienced men knocking down green boys, boys Jon’s age, and hurting them so much they’d never walk again, or hold a sword...or draw a breath.</p>
<p>There was nothing beautiful about that, and she saw her Aunt’s point: it was wasteful, not just in money bu in the lives it wasted. North, with its harsh winters, could not afford such waste, and the idea that something like that might have happened to Robb or Jon was horrifying.</p>
<p>Jon was still lying injured in his room, but at least he would make a full recovery, and there had been nothing worse than heavy bruising, bleeding from a few places and a concussion. Many ended up worse, even just in the squires’ melee.</p>
<p>Sansa was still in two minds about Jon’s knighting. Part of her couldn’t help but think of the advantages it would give Jon if he ever went south again, something to outweigh the way they all looked down on him because of his parentage, but she felt angry on Jon’s behalf, too, knowing he never wanted anything like that and that he’d been in no state to refuse when the king had bestowed it on him. She knew how Jon detested it and felt used by it. He’d wondered to her, more than once as he lay on his sickbed, if if he’d placed tenth the king would have made all the first ten fighters knights. He was certain that at the very least Lancel Lannister, whom Jon had only defeated so very narrowly, deserved to be knighted as well, and even tried to ask the king for it, but the man wouldn’t hear it, only laughing and clapping Jon on his injured shoulder.</p>
<p>Sansa understood why Jon hated him, she really did.</p>
<p>In fact, the only remotely good thing to come out of the tourney was the chance she had to meet Ser Harold.</p>
<p>He’d been knighted with Jon, and once the melee was finished Sansa had rushed to the medical tent with Aunt Barbrey and Alyssa only to find him there as well, having his more minor injuries seen to.</p>
<p>“Harry!” Alyssa had exclaimed, beaming at the new knight. “Congratulations on the knighthood!”</p>
<p>The young man smiled back at her, honest and genuine, and said a little reproachfully: “And I had to do it without your favour, too!”</p>
<p>Aly laughed a little tinkling laugh. “I would have hated to have to choose if I should give one to Jon or to you,” she said, and with those words, moved towards Jon’s bed even as Ser Harold, it seemed to Sansa, grimaced a little. Not that she spared him much attention at the point, her eyes glued to Jon, who was barely clinging to consciousness.</p>
<p>Once he fell asleep, however, and Ser Harold had been seen to, they were more properly introduced, and Ser Harold turned more seriously charming towards Sansa,  making her blush quite against her will - only to be undermined by Aly, who whispered into Sansa’s ear, but loudly enough for him to hear: “Do not take him seriously, Sansa, he flirts with every young woman he meets!”</p>
<p>Ser Harold scowled at Alyssa at those words. “Such slander, my dear cousin! I am a knight, now, you cannot speak to me in that way.”</p>
<p>Alyssa gave another tinkling laugh. Sansa was surprised to realise that she liked Ser Harold. She’d heard stories about him from Aly before, of course, and that helped, but he jut seemed genuinely nice, even if he was a general flirt. He seemed like the first southern man not to be completely insufferable.</p>
<p>Sansa had caught herself thinking, in the days since, as they shared a few meals and one ride with Ser Harold, that she dearly wished the prince was anything like him at all. Then, at least, it would not be such a sacrifice to marry him for her family, even if she did have to leave home for it.</p>
<p>Instead, he was…Sansa shuddered, even now, to think back to the hawking excursion. She had been intimidated beforehand, not ever having gone hawking before, but she had simply been afraid of making a spectacle of herself. She had not considered what going hawking would mean to the prince, with what relish he would observe the animals being torn apart by his birds. It was when he began to speak of how hunts like this should be done for criminals, too, and how that would make executions much more enjoyable, that Sansa had had to feign sickness and return to the Red Keep with her guards.</p>
<p>Forcefully, Sansa pulled her mind back from that to at least somewhat more pleasant memories. In truth, there was one other thing to come out of the tourney that was, if not exactly good, then at least interesting.</p>
<p>Ser Loras had given her a rose when he rode in the tourney on the second day, which had been very nice of him, and so afterwards Sansa went to thank him and found him talking with Lord Renly. They were both very kind, complimenting her, and Ser Loras expressing condolences for her father. Sansa looked at him and wondered if he’d lotted to kill the man who raised her. She found it difficult to believe as he talked lovingly of his sister, who he’d left at Bitterbridge with her entourage to arrive in time for the tourney, and how sorry Lady Margaery was she had missed it. When Sansa expressed her regret for missing Lady Margaery in turn, as they would likely be leaving as soon as Jon was well enough to travel, Ser Loras looked genuinely sorry and talked about his sister some more, and about how Sansa would like her so much, and how he hoped she would return to the capital soon and meet her.</p>
<p>And that was interesting.</p>
<p>Sansa did not think of it immediately, but that evening, when she thought about the day and the conversation, she mused on Lady Margaery’s arrival. It was not for the tourney, so...what was it for? She supposed that it could be for Princess Myrcella’s birthday, but she had been given to understand those were not usually large feasts with guests from as far away as the Reach. She could simply be coming to see her brother, but he had just visited back home and she had no other relatives in the capital as far as Sansa knew, so...why?</p>
<p>And even more interestingly, Ser Loras expected she would be staying there long enough for Sansa to come back to the capital. The journey North, by land, would take them three moon’s turns, and then they would of course stay some time in the North – even if she was requested by the king very soon and could find no excuse, it would be a moon’s turn at least – and then another six weeks or so to travel south by the sea. She would not be back in the capital sooner than in half a year, even if she hurried back. Ser Loras supposing Lady Margaery would still be there was...interesting.</p>
<p>Sansa took this to Aunt Barbrey the very next morning.</p>
<p>Lady Dustin did not seem to know what to do with the information either.</p>
<p>“If they wished to marry her to the bastard they mean to put on the throne, well, I would understand that,” she said, “but why bring her to the capital then? The boy is supposed to live in Storm’s End, isn’t he? King’s Landing could just be a stop on the way, of course, and Lord Renly could be intending to invite her to his castle after she spends some time here, but he would hardly wait half a year for that…”</p>
<p>Sansa’s eyes widened. “He must have been lying on purpose,” she realised. “You are right, Aunt, this must be it - they must mean to marry her to the bastard, and want them to meet, but they want to make it seem like her travel to the Stormlands is an impulsive decision, and so Ser Loras claimed that she would be staying here instead!” It seemed, however likable he had appeared, he truly was involved in her father’s death after all.</p>
<p>It was a shame, because after her mother’s outright abominable treatment of Aunt Barbrey, Sansa wished she could put all the blame on her even more, and contrary to her aunt still found it likely her mother had been at least somewhat involved, but it truly was looking more and more like the bastard plot was real, and Aunt Barbrey was right about this too - Lady Catelyn would never support such a thing.</p>
<p>Perhaps they secured her cooperation without telling her the goal of the assassination?</p>
<p>Certainly, even if her mother had not been involved, Sansa thought it was only because no one had asked her for help. She was done believing her mother had any decency at all.</p>
<p>Ignorant of her musings, Aunt Barbrey smiled at her. “You are becoming very good at discovering these intrigues, Sansa,” she said. “You might well be right, and I am proud of you.”</p>
<p>Sansa beamed, but before she could reply, they were interrupted by a messenger</p>
<p>There had been a raven from Robb.</p>
<p>Sansa took the sealed message with a slight tremor in her hands. She desperately hoped it would be a summons home. She had managed to get her mother to leave the Tower and hide herself somewhere for now, yes, but she was under no illusion that it would last. Lady Catelyn would recover, and attack again, and Sansa wanted to be gone from here before that could happen.</p>
<p><i>Please Robb, please,</i> she thought desperately as she tore the letter open.</p>
<p>She skimmed over it quickly, then exhaled in relief, read it more carefully and handed it to her aunt.</p>
<p>She, Jon and Aunt Barbrey were being summoned North for Robb’s wedding, while Lady Catelyn would be told to stay behind.</p>
<p>Sansa would be free.</p>
<p>Soon they would be away from this place that wasted men’s lives, and she could draw an easy breath again.</p>
<p>Sansa took a moment for herself, to feel the relief that came with this message, th tears that sprung into her eyes. Then she blinked them away, and focused on what else the letter said.</p>
<p>Robb was also telling Sansa to leave thirty Stark men with Lady Catelyn and take the rest home with them, and that she should leave the selection to Aunt Barbrey and Jon.</p>
<p>This had to have been a very carefully considered decision.</p>
<p>Her aunt was apparently thinking the same. “Thirty men,” she said. “Just enough not to be outright disrespectful, but showing that he doesn’t value her particularly strongly all the same. And he wants us to pick the guards we suspect of southern loyalties and leave them here.”</p>
<p>Sansa only nodded. Her brother, it seemed, had gown clever as well - or else Wynafryd was giving him good advice.</p>
<p>“We should go tell Jon,” Sansa suggested, and her aunt agreed easily.</p>
<p>They collected Aly on the way, and as soon as she saw her, Sansa told her cheerfully: “We’re going home.”</p>
<p>Aly only smiled.</p>
<p>At times, Sansa wondered how her friend truly felt about it - after all, the North was not her home, and the capital might be closer to what she knew than Winterfell. But she always fully entered into Sansa’s complaints about this place, and so Sansa thought - and hoped - that for her, at least, Aly was glad.</p>
<p>Jon, on the other hand, was very obviously thrilled, trying to rise from his bed to embrace Sansa only to be scolded by the maester tending to him. So Sansa leaned over him instead, pressing his uninjured shoulder tightly and saying: “Get well soon, Jon. As soon as we can, we leave.”</p>
<p>In the meanwhile, as they waited for Jon’s wounds to close and shared meals with Ser Harold and packed, they saw to the task that Robb set to them.</p>
<p>They had to make sure that they brought no spies with them up north.</p>
<p>It wad distasteful that they needed to even consider such things in their own household, but such was King’s Landing, and so they set to work, parsing which members of their household were ever seen conversing with Lord Baelish, or spending much time with Lady Catelyn. Jon’s recovery would likely take another week or so, and they had to be ready. </p>
<p>Finally, this trial was to be over.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Meanwhile Robb just leaves as few men as possible because he expects that after Cat marries, they’ll be left travelling North anyway…</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Barbrey V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"Justice" for Ned Stark.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>One of the many things she disliked so much about her stay in the south, Barbrey couldn’t help thinking, was how, at the same time, nothing ever happened and the situation seemed to change with every day.</p>
<p>Just before the tourney, it had all seemed like a closed matter. Yes, she had not been as certain of the culprit behind Ned’s assassination as she would have liked to be, but as Lord Renly had freshly been named the Hand of the King, there hadn’t been much she could do on that front anyway, and she had been comfortable with going back North and consulting with Robb before deciding on further steps. There were some options before them - they could try to contact Lord Stannis, for example, against whom, after all, the plot as also indirectly aimed, perhaps even seek Tywin Lannister’s help - but for all of this, she would need Robb’s approval and his letters sent to the lords. They were also all decisions that should not be made in haste.</p>
<p>So Barbrey had been comfortable in the choices she had made and what it meant for the future of the children and the North.</p>
<p>Now Jon was a knight and recovering from his injuries, and the new puzzle of Margaery Tyrell coming to the capital would not leave Barbrey alone.</p>
<p>Sansa’s explanation seemed the most likely one, though even that had some flaws.</p>
<p>But what else was there? Under normal circumstances, the answer to what Margery Tyrell was doing coming to the capital for such a long time just as Sansa was leaving it would be easy: trying to convince the king that she was a much better marriage prospect for Prince Joffrey than Sansa.</p>
<p>But Barbrey’s whole theory about the bastard plot hinged on there being true loyalty between Ser Loras and Renly Baratheon, and if that was the case, Renly would hardly let his lover bring his sister to the capital for that if he meant to eliminate Joffrey from the succession. So it seemed to stand to reason that Sansa was right, and yet…From all Barbrey had seen of Jon’s treatment by anyone except the king, it seemed unlikely the Tyrells would be willing to make any steps towards the bastard before Joffrey was removed and the boy legitimised. And, too, the boy was apparently a child still, while Lady Maragery was of age already. Were the Tyrells really willing to wait years for marriage, under such precarious circumstances? Or would the boy be married at twelve?</p>
<p>Barbrey shuddered a little at the idea.</p>
<p>And there was the matter of Littlefinger, too, of course, and his reward of Rosby. It was unlikely he genuinely believed in the Targaryen conspiracy, so…Was he part of the bastard plot as well? Why would he wish for a bastard on the throne? Was he just paid off? Or did he join simply for the chance to kill Ned and be able to marry the Tully woman later? But if he was involved, wouldn’t he have tried to make Barbrey believe in the Targaryen plot instead of effectively admitting the possibility of the Tully woman’s involvement? Bringing him into suspicion brought her back into suspicion as well, naturally, but then there was the matter of the plot concerning bastards, and…it simply made no sense. There were once again too many questions, that was the problem, and no way to get at any secure answers before they left.</p>
<p>The first time Barbrey had realised the possible implications of Littlefinger getting his lordship, she had been so angry she had felt half ready to go and murder the Tully woman in her sleep, wherever she was hiding now, just to make absolutely certain that, if she was behind Ned’s death after all, she would not get away with it. In the end, what stopped Barbrey wasn’t any inner justice demanding she wait for proof, it was mostly practical concerns. If another Stark – even though only nominally one – died, they could not leave for the North. They would have to stay, at least some of them, and continue the investigation, there would need to be mourning, Robb’s wedding plans might be disrupted...and most importantly, Littlefinger would likely discover it was her who did it and arrange for her execution, which would mean leaving the children alone. And as much as she wished to avenge Ned, she would not do that.</p>
<p>She needed to stand by the children more than she needed to take revenge on the woman who, for all she’d been tyrannising Sansa for months, was still more likely than not innocent of an actual murder. </p>
<p>Jon had now been moved from the medical rooms to his own chambers, thankfully, for the last days of his convalescence. Sansa and Aly spent most of their time by his bed, keeping him company, as Barbrey finished the last preparations for their departure. They also helped him choose his new coat of arms, something he was apparently entitled to as a knight. Barbrey saw little point in it when it would not help rally his men in battle, but she was amenable to most things that helped Jon, and so every time she stopped by in his chambers, she listened to the suggestions the children gave her and allowed it to distract her.</p>
<p>This time, when she entered, Sansa turned to her with a beaming smile and said: “We have finally made a decision!”</p>
<p>“Oh? Tell me, then.”</p>
<p>“I’ve decided on having Ghost in place of the Stark wolf a while ago, as you know,” Jon replied. “I’ve finally determined that I wish the field behind him to be black, like Karstarsks did when they were granted their coat.”</p>
<p>Barbrey smiled at him. “Good choice.” She knew he had been hesitating about whether he should simply have inverted colours - something that would directly mark him as a bastard for as long as he bore the crest, but that also, he felt, would mark his loyalty to the Starks. Barbrey liked the solution he came up with. It was close enough to inverted colours, and a white wolf with red eyes on a black field would look suitably impressive.</p>
<p>At least something good would come out of that whole mess of a tourney.</p>
<p>Well, that and her conversation with the lady knight. Brinne of Tarth proved to be a foolish woman in many ways, almost painfully naive, but Barbrey had also seen her react to her mention that she was being mocked behind her back, and she could see that there was a core of steel beneath all that southern nonsense. She sincerely hoped they would never have to go south again, but if they did, Brienne of Tarth was a potential ally to keep in mind.</p>
<p>But that was for much, much later. Now she had other things to attend to, and so she refocused back on the children. “If you are done with all that heraldry,” she said, “are you ready to go watch the execution?”</p>
<p>A few days ago, it had been announced that there would be no need of a trial. Lord Rosby had confessed to having Lord Eddard killed after he had been confronted with ‘undeniable evidence’, according to the king. Barbrey did her best not to think about how exactly that confession was obtained. Whatever the cause, he did confess, and he would be made shorter a head on the steps of the Great Sept that day.</p>
<p>Given that he was likely innocent, Barbrey wasn’t particularly thrilled about the spectacle, but it was supposed to be the man who had killed Ned. They couldn’t very well not come. Sansa and Jon, she knew, were both significantly upset by a man losing his life for an explanation they all found mostly unlikely, but without any counter-evidence, they could do nothing to stop it, and there was little left to do but watch it all proceed in silence.</p>
<p>As Barbrey and Sansa helped Jon up from bed and towards Ghost, who would support him as he walked to their carriage, Jon said quietly: “I have tried to speak the the king about it, when he came to see me.” That had only happened twice - once directly after the melee, and once after Jon had been moved to his chambers, both visits very brief. It angered Barbrey, given how the king claimed Jon was his great favourite and how he was responsible, albeit indirectly, for the injury. “He wouldn’t hear any doubts about Rosby’s guilt.”</p>
<p>Barbrey sighed. “We knew that, Jon, but it was good of you to try.” In truth it had been risky of him to try, but they would be leaving the capital in a few days. Hopefully, they were safe enough now that this little lapse would not cost them anything.</p>
<p>They climbed into the carriage, and rode towards the hill with the sept.</p>
<p>The closer they got, the more crowded the streets became - clearly, people have gathered for the spectacle of an important political execution. The noise was getting louder, too, excited chattering and jeering, and Jon grimaced as he looked out of the window.</p>
<p>“Vultures,” he muttered.</p>
<p>“They believe they are getting justice for your Father, Jon,” Barbrey reminded him with another sigh. “If you could believe that, would you not be in a similar mood?”</p>
<p>That silence him, and they stayed quiet for the remainder for the journey.</p>
<p>The carriage let them out on a dais for noble guests, which was at the moment populated by the royal family and Lord Tyrion.</p>
<p>Barbrey was glad to see him. Leaving King‘s landing, she knew, would be a relief in all ways but two: she still did not know with absolute certainty who exactly had Ned killed, and she would miss Lord Tyrion’s company.</p>
<p>If someone had told her she would miss a Lannister a yea ago, he would have laughed, even thought she never had the prejudice against them Ned used to. But they were southern, famous for being filthy rich and wasteful with it, and no friends of the North, and that was enough to give her a not too favourable opinion.</p>
<p>But Lord Tyrion...it had been lonely in Winterfell before they left, with no adults of her rank to speak to. She loved all the children dearly, but it was simply different. She would miss the chance to speak her mind relatively freely to someone while being able to expect a reply of an equal. Not just socially, too, for he had no trouble matching her wit and in fact pushed her forward, his education being so much greater than hers.</p>
<p>Of course, for all she would gain by leaving King’s Landing, it would be a small price to pay. But she was glad of any opportunity to talk to him all the same, and settled next to him on the dais as the king called for Jon’s company, to the queen’s obvious displeasure.</p>
<p>“Come to see justice done?” Lord Tyrion asked her with heavy sarcasm, though in a voice low enough it would not carry to the king.</p>
<p>Barbrey didn’t mother to reply. “Will you continue your investigation in our absence?” She asked instead.</p>
<p>He sighed. “I will see. In fact,” he looked around to make sure there was no one within hearing apart from Sansa and his brother, “upon consideration, you made me none too comfortable when you told me that Lord Stark wrote about the same discovery I made just before he died. There have been some new hints for where I should direct the investigation lately, but I am also considering giving it pause for a time, to lull anyone who might suspect me into a false sense of security. I have angered my sister, too, for criticising her…ah…heavy handed approach in some things, and that, combined with this potential worry for my safety, even makes me consider leaving the capital for a time.”</p>
<p>That surprised Barbrey. “Oh? Where would you go?”</p>
<p>“I was thinking Oldtown,” he confessed. “All that I learnt at the Wall and in Winterfell made me consider finding more sources, but the library in King’s Landing is very slim on anything relating to northern magic, or magic at all, to be truthful. I am hoping that the Citadel will have better pickings.”</p>
<p>“It should, I suppose,” Barbrey grunted reluctantly.</p>
<p>He laughed. “I know of your dislike, my lady, and I promise you hat I will take everything the maesters say with a grain of salt. But as it is, they are, sadly, the best source of knowledge we have.” He sighed. “In fact, your objections have made me think, and it might not be a bad idea to start a collection of writings out of their hands. Now all we have is from them or the septons, and we know they both have their biases, don’t we? But even suggesting such a thing would offend the Citadel and the Faith both, and I do not quite feel up to making new enemies just yet when I don’t know where I stand with the ones that are, supposedly, being punished today. Perhaps in time.”</p>
<p>Barbrey nodded in appreciation. “It is a worthy venture,” she agreed. Not one she would ever wish to undertake, but she supposed he was better suited for it than she was.</p>
<p>Of course, the problem with his departure to Oldtown was that he would hardly be able to investigate anything regarding Margaery Tyrell and whatever plans concerning her there were. She would lose her one ally in the city. She supposed it was a good thing it was only happening now, when she should no longer need him quite so desperately, but still. She had truly hoped to discover the truth in time, if possible including a proof, and it would become much more difficult without Lord Tyrion.</p>
<p>“If you go,” she asked carefully, “you mean to come back eventually?”</p>
<p>“Oh, I do,” he confirmed, which was something at least. He further reassured her by adding: “and when I do I will be at your disposal again. But for now…” He shrugged, and then gestured towards the space in front of the dais, where Lord Rosby was being led amidst increased jeering. “I would much rather not end up that way.”</p>
<p>The lord looked terrible, old and frail and on the verge of dying on his own. He was led towards the block, and some courtier made a short speech describing his terrible crimes. The noise of the crowd grew deafening, the king even joining in, and the old man was forced to kneel and put his head on the block.</p>
<p>“Any last words?” The officiant asked.</p>
<p>“I didn’t do it,” the old man said, so quietly Barbrey could barely hear him even close as she was, and then the sword swung.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Jon V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The departure.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The day they were leaving King‘s Landing, it was cloyingly hot in spite of it being almost a moon‘s turn since the white raven had arrived, and Jon was looking forward to the cooler weather of the North. It had been a long time since his last autumn, and he didn’t truly remember it, but he did remember spring, a little, and it had its own charm in the North. He hoped autumn would be similar. </p>
<p>The court was gathered in one of the courtyards of the Red Keep to see them depart, with the King entreating them to return soon and to give his well-wishes to Robb on his wedding day. It was also the king’s last goodbye to Father’s bones, which were travelling north with them, and Jon had overheard him apologising for getting Lord Stark killed in a quiet murmur. He supposed that for the king’s friendship to his father, at least, he could respect the man, even if there was little else.</p>
<p>Jon was looking forward to the journey. Carrying the bones in a procession, they would not be going by sea but by the King’s Road, giving him a chance to see wider parts of Westeros than he ever had before. True, there would be no White Harbour or Gulltown on the way, and that made him a little sad thinking of Ryella and Wylla, but they would pass by Harrenhall and Gods’ Eye and the Trident, and they would see Moat Cailin, too, a place in the North Jon had never visited. He knew it was a ruin now, but it was still an important defence point, and he knew he should familiarise himself with it, just in case of unexpected developments when it came to the culprits of Lord Stark’s death.</p>
<p>Carrying the bones home was a heavy duty, of course, but it had been almost five full moons since his father’s death, and the sharp sting had passed a little, leaving him more melancholy when he thought of it, regretful for the missed opportunities, and for never knowing who his mother was. Of course, in many ways Aunt Barbrey was all the mother he needed, but it would have been nice to know all the same.</p>
<p>Mostly, it was a relief to finally leave the city. The days of convalescence had not endeared it to him, but in some ways they might have been the most pleasant of his entire stay. He had been bored and in pain, but at least, shut in his room, there were no sneering looks and snide comments, and no necessity to entertain the king.</p>
<p>He’d visited Jon twice, briefly, once  to make sure he was recovering and once, just after the tourney, to clap him on his shoulder in a way that hurt and congratulate him on his knighthood. Given how furious Jon still was about that, he’d been glad for the excuse of injury sparing him proper response.</p>
<p>He felt dirtied whenever he thought about it, the king’s sword – or rather, a borrowed sword from Ser Barristan, as the king wielded a hammer – landing on his shoulder, the seven oils that had been forced on him when he’d been half unconscious. As soon as he’d been healed enough, he’d scrubbed until he was raw, trying to get the mark of the Seven off his skin, but he knew that he never could. The south had left its irreversible mark on him, and Jon hated it with everything he was.</p>
<p>It didn’t matter how many times Aunt Barbrey reminded him of Ser Rodrick and other northerners who had submitted to knighthood, how many times she reminded him of the advantages it could bring, Jon would still give it up in heartbeat if he could. He did not wish to have anything to do with the south and its gods. It had killed his father, it threatened to take Sansa away, and it brought Lady Catelyn to Winterfell. He would not accept any gifts it had to give him.</p>
<p>And especially under the circumstances that it happened. Perhaps, had the king knighted him for valour in battle, he could have accepted it. It would not have been so far from northern ways, at least. But a squire’s melee, which, it was now entirely obvious, had only been orchestrated because the king had wanted to knight Jon in the first place and even he needed some kind of an excuse...and knighting all the first three combatants, against custom and tradition, he understood from Lady Alyssa, just so Jon would get his knighthood too, while leaving Lancel Lannister, who had done just as well as Jon if not better, to wait for the title he so desired, while Jon could not care any less…</p>
<p>Jon hated every single circumstance of this.</p>
<p>The only thing that might have made him more accepting was if he could believe he now had a chance of marrying Ryella, but he knew perfectly well that he did not.</p>
<p>The stain of his illegitimacy did not just disappear with his knighthood, certainly not in Lord Belmore’s eyes.</p>
<p>It did not hurt as much as it used to, knowing he would never marry her – all the events of King’s Landing, all the plots they’d examined and rumours they heard and enmity they faced gave him plenty of other things to occupy his mind. The ache was still there, though, and he still frequently thought of her at night in his shameful fantasies. He feared the return to Winterfell, in a way – would he ever be able to enter the godswood again without seeing her shadow there? - but also hoped it would heal him the rest of the way. He would be home, after all, and he would be by Robb’s side, helping him and supporting him. Perhaps Robb would even have a child, soon after his wedding, and then Jon would be busy being an uncle, too. That might be a little bittersweet – knowing there was unlikely to be such happiness for him in the future – but Jon was still looking forward to it.</p>
<p>Jon was awoken from his thoughts when the king came to bid him his final goodbye. “I’m proud of you, Jon, and I know Ned would be as well,” he said heavily. Jon had his doubts about that, but kept his mouth shut. “Come back with your sister, once she returns. I promise you you will have a future in the capital. After all, my queen has a brother in the kingsguard - would it not be good for your sister to have one, too?”</p>
<p>Jon gritted his teeth so hard his whole jaw hurt. “Yes, Your Grace,” he said. He could not imagine anything he would hate more, and yet the king was not entirely wrong. A chance to protect Sansa, if she was forced to marry Joffrey after all, would have value. And if she was forced into such misery for her whole life, it seemed fair she would not be the only one, at least.</p>
<p>Jon gave himself a mental shake. There was no need to think of such things now. They were returning home. He could enjoy that, at least, without already thinking of going south again.</p>
<p>The king, unaware of his thoughts, beamed at him and clapped his shoulder, then said a few brief words to Sansa and returned to his place beside the queen.</p>
<p>“Go, then, greet your future bride!” He said, pushing Prince Joffrey, and the boy - who seemed to have lost some of his enthusiasm for spending time with Sansa since their hunting trip - approached her only to stiffly bow and say: “Have a safe and pleasant journey, my lady.”</p>
<p>Sansa curtsied. “Thank you, my prince, it is an honour. I hope to see you again when my duties to my family allow.”</p>
<p>The prince’s lip curled, but he didn’t reply and returned to his father’s side.</p>
<p>Jon couldn’t help but remember the contrast Sansa had drawn between him and Ser Harold.</p>
<p>In truth, Jon hadn’t liked Ser Harold much either, unlike Sansa - he seemed far too frivolous and just altogether very southern. But looking at the prince, he had to grant Sansa’s point: between the two, there was no comparison. If Ser Harold was the best South could provide, then someone like him would be better on the throne indeed.</p>
<p>But then Jon shook himself. He was angry, yes - at the king, but also at the south as a whole - but he shouldn’t be thinking like this. He had sparred enough with Ser Barristan to know that there were better men born in the south than this. The old knight had come to congratulate Jon as well, and from him, Jon valued it more, though he still knew he did not deserve the knighthood. It was kind of Ser Barristan to overlook it, however, and Jon couldn’t help thinking that if all knights were like him, he might not have minded the knighthood that much, in spite of the seven oils.</p>
<p>And there was Lord Tyrion, too, who had genuinely helped them and had always been friendly to Jon and good company. He was standing next to the royal family now, and as Joffrey retreated he approached to exchange a few short words with Aunt Barbrey.</p>
<p>He only nodded to Sansa, but Jon, he came to speak to.</p>
<p>“So, a knight,” he said. He had not come to see Jon during his convalescence, but Jon was not offended. They were hardly close friends, after all.</p>
<p>Jon grimaced in response, just a little, and Lord Tyrion laughed. “Yes, I rather thought so,” he said. “But one is not to look royal gift horses in the mouth, eh? Well, I daresay no one will force you to use it in the North, and in the south, it’s something you can use to whack over the nobles’ heads. I wish I could do away with being a dwarf this easily.”</p>
<p>“I sincerely hope I will not get another opportunity for whacking any time soon,” Jon said with fully honesty.</p>
<p>Lord Tyrion looked at him with his sharp, mismatched eyes. “Don’t be naive,” he only said, and then added: “Godspeed,” and retreated to stand at Ser Jaime’s side.</p>
<p>Lady Catelyn was not present for the goodbye. Since the confrontation with Lady Dustin, she had kept away, hidden they knew not where, to Jon’s - and Sansa’s and Aunt Barbrey’s, he knew - relief. Sansa said she’d only glimpsed her once since, at a distance. So with this, the official goodbyes were done, and they all mounted their horses and rode out of the Red Keep.</p>
<p>It was not, sadly, the immediate relief Jon would have wished for - they had the entire city to traverse first, and even then, the stench of it carried far, and Jon would need to be beyond the bounds of where they used to go for their rides before he began to feel truly free of its constraints. Still, even this was something, and Jon found in himself enough benevolence to look at the houses they were passing and think about how, hopefully, it would be a very long time, if ever, until he saw such a large city again.</p>
<p>They rode out of the Dragon Gate, something they had done little enough before, as the best riding ground were to the south of the city. Still, it had been long two months, and they had gone on many rides together, so there have been a few times towards the north, too, and it was familiar enough, the wide king’s road spreading before them.</p>
<p>Jon took a deep breath as their procession stepped onto its firm surface, stomped down by thousands of feet across history.</p>
<p>“Three moon’s turns?” He asked his aunt.</p>
<p>“Three moon’s turns,” she confirmed. “We may begin counting the days.”</p>
<p>Jon did not dare to truly count the first one until they passed Hayford, the castle he’d only previously seen from afar but that had been pointed out to him as the place where he needed to turn if he wanted to make it comfortably back to King’s Landing on the same day. They did not turn. They were truly, truly going away.</p>
<p>Jon let out the tension he had not even been aware he’d still been holding. “Home,” he muttered. “We are going home.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Apologies to anyone who expected some last minute drama preventing their departure! We are not done with KL shenanigans by far, believe me, but for now, the trio (+Aly) is physically free of the city, at long last.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. Bran V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Bran had woken up, he couldn’t move his right leg.</p>
<p>There was nothing really wrong with it, Maester Luwin assured him, but nevertheless Bran remained convinced that he should have no right leg, remembering in all vivid detail the moment the cat had closed its mouth around his hip when he had been a mouse, and he simply could not move it.</p>
<p>And even worse, Jojen immediately knew the cause of his injury, and not only he’d berated Bran for it, he’d also told Robb.</p>
<p>Robb, in turn, used his lord voice to threaten that if he was caught warging without supervision once more, or if he ever tried warging anything weaker than he himself was again, he would be locked in the highest tower of Winterfell, with the door barred and no animals inside, so that he could never warg again.</p>
<p>Bran could tell Robb meant it, too, and that terrified him.</p>
<p>Not that he needed further terrifying. The idea of never walking again scared him, and every day he tried to will himself to move his leg. It was right there after all, it was <i>not</i> bitten off, and so he stared at it and tried to force it to move...but it would not.</p>
<p>Master Luwin tried to encourage it by giving it massages, and Jojen encouraged him to warg again, believing it would help. But Bran was now scared to warg anything but Summer. The wolf spent most of every day lying by his side, but when Bran slipped into his skin and tried to walk, Summer limped, too, though not as badly as Bran. Bran’s mind, Jojen told him, was wrestling with the wolf’s, arguing over the state of their leg.</p>
<p>Jojen insisted that helped – that at least some experience of moving his leg was good for Bran – but Bran was scared that he would just make Summer crippled too, and he couldn’t. If he would never walk properly again, at least Summer had to stay able to run.</p>
<p>Bran had stayed mostly in bed for weeks, and apart from Summer and Jojen, the one who kept him company the most was Old Nan. She sat by his bedside for hours on end and told him all the stories he asked for. Bran had always liked the scary ones, but now he had even more of a reason, and wanted to hear every little thing Old Nan could recall about the Long Night.</p>
<p>It was a grim listening, and the vague idea that he was supposed to do something about it terrified him. Was he meant to be the Last Hero? To lose his dog and his horse and his best friend? The dog would have to mean Summer, and Bran felt sick at the mere idea. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if Summer died. He would rather never walk again.</p>
<p>Robb had crutches made for him, and with them Bran could walk around his room or even outside for a little bit when he was accompanied, but today was the first day he would be in bigger company again since his accident. It was the Harvest Feast, and he knew the bannermen whom he’d watched coming over the past few weeks needed to see Robb’s heir there, even if his leg was lame.</p>
<p>Not even master Luwin knew the cause of his problem, and thought it had been some kind of stroke; for the feast, his leg was wrapped in bandages and they would pretend it was an injury from a fall that would heal in time. If he did not improve, they could always say the prognosis had been wrong, but for now, Robb and Maester Luwin and Wynafryd all insisted, it was important not to show weakness.</p>
<p>Bran hated that he was a weakness. He was supposed to be the most powerful warg in his family, to maybe protect his siblings with magic, or at least with magical spying, like Robb would be Lord and Jon his mighty defender with a sword. He had to start walking again, he simply had to.</p>
<p>For now, he used his crutches to walk into the Great Hall behind Robb and Wynafryd, Summer by his one side and Lady Leona by his other, and then settled at the table to listen to Robb’s opening speech.</p>
<p>“My lords,” his brother said once the hall quieted, “I welcome you to Winterfell, and to begin with I wish to beg your pardon for asking you to repeat the journey again soon, for in three moons, I will be wed to my beloved Lady Wynafryd in the godswood of Winterfell.”</p>
<p>A cheer went up around the room, and Robb let it run its course before he grew more grim. “By that time,” he said, “my sister, Lady Dustin and Jon Snow will, gods willing, also have returned from the South with my father’s bones, so before my wedding, I ask you to attend the entombment of his bones into our crypts. The stoneworkers have already begun work on his statue, and he will be honoured among my ancestors, by the side of his father, brother and sister. We will drink to him again when the day comes, but I would still ask you to raise the toast to the great man that he had been and all that he’s done for the North.”</p>
<p>This time, the cups were raised in grim silence, and the men in the hall emptied them as one, then put them down with a grim clank.</p>
<p>“But now onto happier things!” Robb said after a moment of respectful silence, changing the tone once again. “We have had a good harvest, my lords, and a good, long summer. We might be facing a long winter, but we are ready. Winter is always coming, and the North never flinches from it. We will shelter our people, and we will support each other, and when the spring comes again, the North will not be weakened by the frost. But such things are a time away still. For now, we can eat of the feast that my charming betrothed had overseen the preparations for, and then we can dance, and we can all be merry. Bring out the food!”</p>
<p>At his words, servants bustled into the hall, carrying trays full of meat and roasted vegetables and large jugs of ale and mead. All the lords in the Hall began to clamor for it, even the ones at the High Table. Bran was seated between Lady Leona and Greatjon Umber, who, as soon as Robb stopped speaking, reached for the ale and began to chug it at a speed Bran had never witnessed before. Bran desperately wished he could be sitting next to someone else instead.</p>
<p>Well, except for Lord Bolton. Barn remembered all of the warnings from Aunt Barbrey only too well, and even looking at the man gave him shivers.</p>
<p>He gazed longingly towards the lower tables, where he’d glimpsed Wylla before. He hoped she would come to talk to him later, at least. Bran had missed her, and hadn’t seen her for months; he was happy to see she had come for the feast, and as he ate and watched Lord Umber stuff himself and talk to Lord Glover on his other side, he wondered if Wylla and her father and grandfather would stay until the wedding. If they went home in between, the journeys would take them half of those three months that were left until the wedding. But perhaps Lord Manderly would be needed in White Harbour…but surely Wylla could stay, at least? Bran liked Jojen and Meera, but he would still be glad of her company.</p>
<p>Suddenly he wondered if Meera and Wylla would like each other. He remembered Wynafryd saying they were the same age, and really, it seemed like they would have much more n common that Meera did with Wynafryd. He looked a little more closely and sure enough, there Meera was sitting at the same table as Wylla, and they were talking animatedly.</p>
<p>Bran did his best not to feel jealous, but it didn’t help when the dancing started.</p>
<p>Barn watched it grimly. Dancing, of course – another thing he would not be able to do today, and all just for his own curiosity. Why, why couldn’t he have just waited to ask Robb what was discussed? Why did he have to insist on eavesdropping? At least that was one good thing that had come out of this: Robb had promised him, after he was done being all mean and strict with him, that he would always tell him any important news that came, that Bran didn’t have to spy. Still, Bran wasn’t sure he trusted the promise - Robb would tell him the essentials, of course, but would he truly tell him all the details, everything that was discussed? He would have to wait and see, he supposed.</p>
<p>The feast was as opulent as Robb had promised, at least, and Bran ate until he was so full he didn’t think he could dance even if his leg was completely well Lord Umber even noticed, laughing and clapping him hard on his back. “You sure have an appetite, little lord,” he boomed approvingly. Bran could see Lady Leona’s face twitch with distaste, but in Bran’s mind, one of the main advantages of eating so much was that he didn’t really have to talk to her. He had never forgotten what she said about the direwolves.</p>
<p>Once he couldn’t possibly fit any more food in his belly no matter how hard he tried, Bran settled in to watch Robb and Wynafryd dance, twirling among the others in the space in the middle of the great hall.</p>
<p>His brother would be married in three months, he thought to himself.</p>
<p>It was a strange idea.</p>
<p>It had been strange just with Robb being betrothed, of course, but that was still different from marriage. Yes, Lady Wynafryd already lived in Winterfell and they couldn’t back out of the agreement without giving grave offence, but still, she didn’t share his brother’s bed, and there were no children to be born before they were married.</p>
<p>Once it happened, though...well, that was the whole point of the marriage, was it not?</p>
<p>The idea of Robb having children was even stranger.</p>
<p>He was Bran’s brother, after all, and not all that much older than Bran, really, so Robb having children was almost as if Bran was to have children too, and that was just impossible to imagine.</p>
<p>He never wanted to have children, Bran decided. He was sure Robb’s were going to be very nice and he would play with them if they weren’t too boring, but he knew that babies cried all the time and they were a lot of work – and they were often ill or even died, too.</p>
<p>That was a horrifying idea – what if Robb had a child and it died?</p>
<p>Bran shuddered. He didn’t want any more people in his family to die. He wondered if there was any way to protect them with greenseer magic, then scoffed at himself. He couldn’t even protect himself, let alone anyone else! He had to learn much more first, that was clear, and also, like Jojen said, be more careful.</p>
<p>He’d always thought being careful sounded boring, but now, after spending six weeks in bed or hobbling around his room, he knew what boring was truly like, and if he ever got better, he would never risk that again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Random comment unrelated to the chapter: I was just reading a Bran chapter from AGOT because I was looking up something while editing the next installment, and honestly I’m more and more convinced Barbrey is right about Luwin. First there is his weird insistence that Ned had to go to KL, then when Robb goes to war after calling his banners, he tells him to stay behind and have someone else command the armies. That is literally the stupidest advice I have ever seen anyone give. If Robb tried that, half of his armies would have gone home, or, if not, he would quite simply no longer be the Lord of the North because he’d be usurped/turned into a puppet lord. Like…seriously, Luwin. A Lord of the North is, according to you, supposed to send armies south without commanding them in person (or sending his brother or son - that would be fine too, but Robb obviously doesn’t have that option). A lord of the north who is already on shaky ground with being so young and having no firm marriage alliances in the North. Are you insane, or is Bolton paying you?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Tyrion VII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Tyrion gets some news, and celebrates Myrcella's name day.It was on the eve of Myrcella’s name day that Varys slipped into Tyrion’s room and said without preamble: “It would be best, my lord, if you left the city as soon as possible.”</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was on the eve of Myrcella’s name day that Varys slipped into Tyrion’s room and said without preamble: “It would be best, my lord, if you left the city as soon as possible.”</p>
<p>Tyrion looked up from his wine and blinked up at him. “I have been considering going to Oldtown,” he said slowly, “but why…”</p>
<p>“Because Maester Pycelle is considering the best time to let the king know that you had a correspondence with Maester Aemon.”</p>
<p>Tyrion froze.</p>
<p>Targaryens, he realised.</p>
<p>“My father…?” He asked carefully. After all, Varys had told him that was who Pycelle was loyal to.</p>
<p>“Your sister, rather, I fear,” Varys replied delicately.</p>
<p>Tyrion felt faintly sick.</p>
<p>It was not exactly surprising, he had to admit. This was an ideal opportunity for Cersei to get rid of him once and for all, and he <i>had</i> angered her when he criticised her for her too obvious attempt at harming Jon Snow, courtesy of their cousin. He had been a little drunk, the night after the squires’ melee, and in the midst of their argument, had hinted that if Cersei angered him too much one day, he could always tell Robert what she tried to do to his precious northern bastard.</p>
<p>It was no wonder she sought to eliminate him before he could do that. But still…Tyrion might have hated her, but she was still his sister. He had hoped…it had only been a few weeks since the Rosby execution. Tyrion remembered it vividly, and he did not wish to end up that way.</p>
<p>“It seems,” Varys continued in the meantime, “you angered her with your remarks regarding your young cousin.”</p>
<p>Yes, as he’d assumed. “How much of a hurry am I in,” Tyrion asked slowly, doing his best not to show his panic, “and will Oldtown be enough?” he had meant to leave slowly and leisurely, making sure he would not arouse any suspicion. He had not touched upon the Stark investigation since Rosby was executed, being careful to keep his schedule the same otherwise but to turn his reading to complete frivolities and drink more than before, and renew his visits to all the brothels in the Street of Silk. He had had a plan. Now…</p>
<p>He shuddered a little as he wondered whether this plan to tell Robert about his Targaryen correspondence was born purely out of Cersei’s head, or whether Littlefinger had been in the background, pushing the pieces.</p>
<p>“Oh yes, yes, of course,” Varys tittered, waving his hand. “You are still Lord Tywin’s son. It is one thing to have you…detained…when you are in the capital, but even the king would hesitate to chase you across the kingdoms on a pretext like that. Remember, you were not in the city when Lord Stark died, and long before, so they cannot accuse you of any direct part in it, only of vaguely participating in the plot. I am sure the maester could be very creative with what he claims was in the letter Aemon sent you, but once again, you are Lord Tywin’s son. He will not go ahead with that unless he is either confident of your guilt, or confident that Lord Tywin would not object.” Would he, Tyrion wondered? “Some could see it as implicating <i>him</i>, after all,” Varys added, “and naturally the grandmaester wishes to avoid that.”</p>
<p>Which could be only a matter of sending a raven, depending on the mood Tywin found himself in at the given moment. Given what his uncle had told him, the signs were not favourable to Tyrion.</p>
<p>“As for time,” Varys added, “certainly you need to stay for the princess’ feast - otherwise your departure would be seen as suspicious, and the maester will not act before it, I believe. But not much after that either. Also, if there is anyone you saw frequently in these last months in the capital, it would be…kind of you to take them with you as you leave, or at least give them a warning.”</p>
<p>Tyrion was about to wave that away, since there was no one left in the capital aside from Jamie, when he froze.</p>
<p>Of course. Alayaya.</p>
<p>If his framing, apart from being in Cersei’s interest, was also part of the wider plot to keep the king believing that the Targaryens were the ones to blame for Ned Stark’s death and Littlefinger was involved…Tyrion wasn’t naive enough to believe anything important happened in the city’s brothels without the sleazy man knowing. </p>
<p>Tyrion rushed to Chataya’s as soon as Varys left him, and as he pretended to negotiate with her, said quietly: “For all the precautions I took, I fear I still brought disaster to your door.”</p>
<p>Sh gave him a quick look. “Speak plainly.”</p>
<p>“I was warned to get out of the city if I don’t wish to be accused of complicity in Lord Stark’s murder, and I was warned anyone I associated with frequently might suffer the same fate. I am leaving the day after tomorrow. I am willing to take Alayaya with me, and you have my deepest apologies.”</p>
<p>Chataya took a long, deep breath. “Well, it was always a risk,” she said then. “Have you found something at least?”</p>
<p>Tyrion was not completely certain, but…in light of this new information, he felt it was worth the risk to give her the warning: “Your greatest competitor, most likely.”</p>
<p>It took her a moment, but once she understood, her face became like thunder. “He was always despicable,” she said. “The way he treats the girls…” She shook her head. “Thank you for the information. Now go speak with Alayaya. If she is willing, she has my leave to go with you.”</p>
<p>Tyrion did as he was told, and explained the situation.</p>
<p>Alayaya looked afraid when he finished, and in that moment Tyrion completely despised Cersei, and Littlefinger, and whoever else was involved in this plot. He, at least, had some protections in his name. Alayaya, he knew, had none.</p>
<p>“I will go with you,” she agreed slowly.</p>
<p>“I should warn you that it will make your association with me even firmer,” Tyrion explained. “If you stay, you might be left alone. You might not, and if you are not it will go very badly for you. But if you go with me and someone decides to pursue us - I am told it is unlikely, but nothing is impossible - well, then…”</p>
<p>“What do you believe is best, my lord?”</p>
<p>Tyrion just prayed Varys had not led him astray. Trusting the spider so blindly, what had he come to? But he didn’t have much of a choice. And he hated the idea of Alayaya staying behind and him never knowing what happened to her. No one, he knew, would bother to inform him of the fate of a whore.</p>
<p>“I believe,” he said, “it would be safer if you came with me.”</p>
<p>“Then I will.”</p>
<p>Please don’t let me be wrong about this, Tyrion said to the gods he did not particularly believe in and, if he had, would not believe had any sympathy for dwarves and whores. Still, who else was there to ask for help? Jamie might love his little brother well enough, but asking him to go against Cersei in anything was a folly even greater than trusting the spider.</p>
<p>Tyrion spent the following day preparing for his departure, and so it was only in the evening, at the feast, that he discovered Margaery Tyrell had arrived in town. It was interesting, certainly - why now? - but it was far from he main worry on his mind.</p>
<p>He did his best to push them aside for the evening as he listened to Thoros of Myr tells drunken stories about the red comet and how it was a sign of his red god and and his ascendancy, and that Azor Ahai was near. Usually the man was good company, but ever since the comet had appeared, he could talk of little else.</p>
<p>Well, at least he would soon be rid of those concerns, Tyrion thought as he took a gulp of his wine.</p>
<p>It wasn’t that he was so reluctant to leave the capital - he had been thinking about it for a long time - but the circumstances couldn’t but leave him feeling bitter and worried.</p>
<p>He shot one look at his sister, golden and resplendent as usual, even as she watched Robert getting progressively drunker with disdain. After the execution of Rosby and the departure of the Northerners, the king had retreated back into his drunken stupor that he’d spent most of the previous fifteen years in and from which he’d briefly emerged to avenge Ned Stark, and for Jon Snow. The last act of any note he had done was offering Father the newly vacant position of the Master of Laws, but unsurprisingly, Tywin had refused, commanding Uncle Kevan to take it in his stead. Tyrion was not too worried. In short enough time, Renly was likely to run the kingdom into the ground, and then his father would be called in and the Lannisters would have two seats on the council. It was just one more reason to leave the capital as soon as possible, even if Cersei had not so obligingly provided one.</p>
<p>Did she truly mean to have him executed, he wondered as he kept looking at her profile.</p>
<p>He turned his gaze away just as she glanced towards him, and caught the cruel curl of her mouth out of the corner of his eyes. He truly should not be surprised.</p>
<p>Perhaps one day, he would get a chance at some kind of revenge. Now, he simply had to enjoy his final evening without doing anything to hasten her plot, which certainly meant avoiding staring at her with murder in his eyes.</p>
<p>He should, he told himself firmly, focus on Myrcella now. Who knew when he’d see her next.</p>
<p>He looked towards the princess, and grimaced. At the very least, he should try and prevent Joffrey from bullying her at least on her name day.</p>
<p>He collected Jaime and then led them both towards her, just in time to hear Joffrey say: “No one cares about your name day anyway.” The prince scoffed. “Did you see anyone throwing you a tourney? No. One day you will be just be a broodmare for some lord or another, and broodmares don’t need name day celebrations.” </p>
<p>“I recommend,” Tyrion interjected in as light a tone as he could while speaking through gritted teeth, “trying to tell your mother that the women of Lannister are mere broodmares. I am certain she would be deeply appreciative.”</p>
<p>Joffrey looked down on him with disdain and took a breath, then noticed Jaime next to him and shut his mouth, only curling his lip and simply turnign around and walking away, towards said mother, though unlikely to follow Tyrion’s advice.</p>
<p>Well, that worked too, Tyrion supposed as he took the emptied seat.</p>
<p>Myrcella smiled at them both, her pretty, kind smile. “Uncles,” she said.</p>
<p>“My princess,” Tyrion returned. “I hope your uncouth brother had not managed to ruin your celebration completely?”</p>
<p>“Oh no, Uncle, I do not mind my brother’s words,” Myrcella said lightly, even though Tyrion could see the glint in her eyes that said she very much did. Good. No one should tolerate such talk easily.</p>
<p>Truly, it was a good thing the girl had Tommen, or she’d probably grow to hate her entire close family.</p>
<p>It struck him how similar their situation were, suddenly, and it was amusing to think of Tommen being her Jaime, as there was hardly anyone as unlike Jaime as his youngest son. Truly, Tyrion had no idea who the boy got his nature from. Perhaps Uncle Kevan? Yes, he supposed it was possible that his uncle had been like this when he was young. The idea cheered Tyrion, until he tried to think about what Tommen would turn into as he got older, with Joffrey for an older brother. Considered what Tywin had turned Kevan into…</p>
<p>Oh well. No sense worrying about it. Tommen might still grow up to be more like Uncle Gerion, though so far he’d showed no trace of any desire for adventure.</p>
<p>“I wish Joffrey was getting a wife who would teach him how to behave,” Jamie muttered from where he stood behind them. “That Stark girl is far too soft for him.”</p>
<p>Tyrion gave him an incredulous look. A wife who would teach a crown prince how to behave? Was he serious? “As our sister has taught her husband, you mean?”</p>
<p>“Her husband,” the word was said with poison, and a venomous look towards Tyrion, “was a general who just won his war when she married him. Joffrey is a green boy, and if a firm woman took him in hand…”</p>
<p>Tyrion shook his head. Sometimes, the ways in which his brother could be an idiot still caught him off guard.”Do you hear your uncle, my princess?” He said instead of arguing. “Whatever husband you get one day, he believes you should take him firmly in hand.”</p>
<p>Myrcella laughed a tinkling laugh. “I am sure my mother will take care to find me one who will not need it,” she said, which was true enough. Cersei would never stand for her daughter marrying some brute, no matter how many people she had to kill to avoid it.</p>
<p>“Ah, that she will,” Jaime agreed as well. “Have I ever told you of how she used to put boys in their place when she was your age?”</p>
<p>“No, Uncle. Please, I wish to hear!”</p>
<p>Jamie smile, and began telling stories of his childhood in Casterly Rock, his favourite kind. </p>
<p>Tyrion did not listen - that childhood was much less happy for him - simply looking at his niece’s happy face, doing his best to fix it in his mind to cheer him once he was in Oldtown. </p>
<p>His new seat at the table put him next to Lady Margaery, and so once he shook off his melancholy, he turned to the lady in question to practice his courtesies.</p>
<p>“We have not had the pleasure before, I believe, my lady,” he began.</p>
<p>“We have not, my lord,” she replied with a shy smile, looking down as she did so.</p>
<p>“You have been greeted by much grander and more impressive people, I am certain, but still, let me do my part and welcome you to this glorious city.”</p>
<p>“Thank you, my lord,” she muttered demurely. After a moment of hesitation, she added: “It is my first time here. Is there any advice you have for me?”</p>
<p>Tyrion ws a little surprised at the question. “What sort of advice does my lady wish for?”</p>
<p>She seemed to hesitate again. “About…the kindest septons and the prettiest statues?” She said then.</p>
<p>Tyrion laughed. “I am not the man for that, I am afraid.” He looked for something he could tell her, and at length, said: “I have been riding out frequently lately, though, enjoying the time before winter comes for us, and I can recommend the south of the city, towards where the tourney grands stand.”</p>
<p>She blushed prettily. “I am not much of a rider, I am afraid, my lord,” she replied quietly, “but thank you all the same.”</p>
<p>It seemed Mace Tyrell truly had done his best to turn his daughter into the perfect fragile flower. Tyrion couldn’t help but hope she wouldn’t stay int he capital for long - Cersei would eat her alive.</p>
<p>“I am sorry to be unable to help you, then,” he said aloud, and for a moment amused himself with the idea of recommending brothels. “But perhaps you could assist me?”</p>
<p>“I will do my best, my lord,” she replied predictably.</p>
<p>“You see, I have been to the North recently,” Tyrion began, “and realised that to match and balance the experience, I should also visit the wonders of the south, so I am thinking of visiting Oldtown.”</p>
<p>She smiled at him. “If that is your reasoning, then we are honoured that you did not choose to head for Dorne.”</p>
<p>Tyrion laughed at that. So there was some little wit to her after all! “I do not think travelling through the desert would suit me,” he said then, “and the Stepstones are too dangerous for one defenceless dwarf. I am sure Oldtown will fully satisfy all of my southern needs.”</p>
<p>“Oldtown can satisfy everyone’s needs,” she replied, and if she was anyone else he would have suspected her of a double-entendre, but she was wide-eyes and innocent as she said it. “You will be travelling around Highgarden, will you not?” She asked then.</p>
<p>“I will,” he confirmed, surprised by the question, “why?”</p>
<p>“Could I trouble you to bring a letter to my eldest brother, then? And to mother and father as well.”</p>
<p>Tyrion supposed that was the kind of gallant service he should feel glad to provide, and it wasn’t as if it was ou of his way. “It would e my pleasure, my lady,” he assured her, and she gave him her timid smile once again for a flash before she looked back down.</p>
<p>With that, the well fo conversation with her seemed to run dry unless Tyrion wished to entertain her with stories the way Jamie did Myrcella, and he did not feel in the mood for that that night.Instead, he turned back to his niece. If he was to be entertaining some young ladies that day, it should be her.</p>
<p>He waited for Jamie to finish the tale he was telling, then interjected: “Your oler uncle is telling you very noble and brave stories, my sweet princess, but if you wish to hear the very funny ones, you have to turn to me!”</p>
<p>Myrcella obediently did, and Tyrion dragged every nice story from his childhood up for her until her septa indicated it was time she retired.</p>
<p>Once that happened, Tyrion got so drunk he could barely walk, to forget the kind of looks his sister was sending him.</p>
<p>When he left the city the following morning, with only a few guards and Alayaya by his side, his head felt like it was ready to burst, and every step of his horse was excruciatingly painful.</p>
<p>What an excellent start to a weeks long journey.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>All right, so there was a *little* last minute drama after all. Next up: Margaery, who has some little wit after all. ;)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Margaery III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Margaery comes to the capital.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is kinda summarizing, but oh well. Like I said, these are the closing chapters.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It seemed that Margaery’s leisurely stroll up the Roseroad towards the capital in the wheelhouse had truly made her miss all the entertainment. The northerners were gone already, Prince Joffrey’s tourney and Lord Rosby’s execution were past, and the only thing she caught, just barely, was Princess Myrcella’s name day. </p>
<p>Maragery had been upset when she realised, back as they were leaving Highgarden, that there was no chance she would be in time for the tourney. Seeing a big celebrations like the prince’s name day could tell you a lot about a place and, beside that, the simply liked tourneys, but then her Grandmother’s ever reasonable approach had prevailed.</p>
<p>“Better to make our entrance relatively quiet,” she had said. “Besides, there is simply no way to arrive in time for the tourney unless you wish to come in a state that would make it quite obvious to your father that you had no intention of catching the king’s attention. No, this is much better. We will simply be there to spend some time with Loras, and this way we will get to observe the court in its natural state first. It’s been years since I was last there, just when Robert was freshly king, and though I keep informed, seeing with your own eyes is always different, and better when it’s not too dangerous. We will stay quiet and observe and only then shall we act.”</p>
<p>So Margaery had accepted missing the tourney, and she did not care about the execution except for the information observing it could have given her, but she was genuinely sorry to find out she had missed the Starks. Living so far from everyone else, that great family was hard to encounter, and even for allt he good political reasons for familiarising herself with them, Margaery was quite simply curious. But they were gone and there was nothing to be don about it, and so, as per her grandmother’s advice, Margaery observed what was left to observe.</p>
<p>The differences between King’s Landing and Highgarden were profound, unsurprisingly, but the city was not much like Oldtown either. It smelled and was dirty and full of poor people living in terrible conditions, and the Red Keep itself was more serviceable than beautiful. And the people inside it…</p>
<p>Her grandmother had given her brief characterisations of them, so she had known what to expect, but she was still somehow surprised that it truly was as bad as the Queen of Thorns had claimed. Her grandmother had a tendency to be overly critical, sometimes, but in this case, it seemed that rather on the contrary, the reports she had been getting had understated the situation.</p>
<p>The newest court gossip, of course, was the execution and Lady Stark’s so-called disgrace, but to begin with Margaery dismissed it as being of little enough interest to her. There were other matters of more importance.</p>
<p>Most crucially, the king was a fat drunkard with no care for ruling, and the notion of marrying him quietly horrified Margaery. She had never either expected or particularly wanted to marry someone she loved, but she had rather hoped for better than this, and though she loved her whole family, she came very close to despising her father for this all over again, thinking that he would be willing to marry her to that man. And her gratefulness to her grandmother, for taking steps to protect her, was immeasurable.</p>
<p>Still, better the king than his son, who she could see soon enough was a cruel little creature who delighted in tormenting others, including his sweet younger siblings. There was no need to wonder where he got it from: the Queen was just as repulsive. The things Margaery had overheard just at Princess Myrcella’s celebration, form the both of them…</p>
<p>The queen was everything bad there ever could be about a woman, everything her grandmother had ever warned her not to become, even more than a simpering fool. “You do not have it in you to be a fool, simpering or otherwise,” she used to tell Margaery when she had been younger, “but you could easily become vicious and cruel in that way some bitter women have, and Margaery, whatever misfortunes befall you in life – and I will do my best to ensure there are as few as possible – you must not. There is no further depths a woman can sink to than become that object of contempt. People might be afraid of such a woman's tongue, but they all know that in truth, she is only resentful of her own lot in life, and those smart enough pity her even as they shun her. Never let that happen to you.”</p>
<p>Margaery remembered how once, when she was very young, she had asked her grandmother what was the difference between her own sharp tongue and what she described. She was afraid she’d offend Grandmother, but the Queen of Thorns had only laughed. “You will know when you meet such a woman,” she had said.</p>
<p>And Margaery believed she had known...until she met Queen Cersei, and realised that she had known nothing at all.</p>
<p>No wonder the king drank so much. With a wife like that, she was only surprised he had not drunk himself to death. But then again, with a husband like that, it was not surprising the Queen was bitter.</p>
<p>Margaery dreaded what fate awaited her. <i>No</i>, she told herself firmly. <i>I will not marry him, and if I am forced to, I will not become this. I will kill myself first...or him.</i></p>
<p>As it was, it took her only a few days to ascertain there was nothing but contempt to be had for the royal family proper, except for Princess Myrcella, who seemed a bright, sweet girl but was, after all, nine, and so of limited value. That in turn led Margaery to look further afield.</p>
<p>She knew Lord Renly already, of course, and knew even better all of Grandmother’s objections to him. She agreed with most of them, too, but her brother loved the man, and that was all there was to it, truly. As much as she blamed Loras for her current predicament, and Lord Renly alongside him, this still formed a debt of affection for her. Family was family, and Lord Renly came as close to counting as an outsider could, for all that he likely did not know she regarded him that way.</p>
<p>Lord Stannis, in his turn, was still absent from the capital, and Margaery was glad of it. She knew that unlike his younger brother, he had never forgiven the part her family had played in the siege of Storm’s End, and she was glad to have one less person in the capital who would be dead set against her.</p>
<p>On the queen’s side, there was Ser Jaime, of course. Ser Jaime...scared her. Not in any direct way, like Ser Gregor did. Not that she believed the brute would dare to hurt her - not even he was that much of a fool. But Margery knew that Loras and Renly were behind his ban from the king’s tournaments, and while she entirely supported that - the man might have killed Loras had his own brother not intervened, gods be good - she was aware that likely meant the man had a grudge against her family and kept on her guard.</p>
<p>With Ser Jaime, it was an entirely different matter. Sometimes when she looked at him, she could see in him a twisted image of Loras, as if the youngest of her brothers had been stripped of all that was good and bright of him, and only his vanity and bitterness was left, hidden behind brittle smiles. And the idea of something of the sort happening to Loras...well, that was disquieting. It also forced her to remember that Ser Jaime had been Loras’ age when he’d killed the Mad King, and that he’d served under him for two years before that.</p>
<p>The thought turned her stomach.</p>
<p>Kevan Lannister, at least, seemed inoffensive enough. He was a kind, courteous man who did not appear particularly bright, but that could be only a mask, and so Margaery did not allow her guard to go down around him. He was still a Lannister, after all. Her grandmother, who had always gathered information on the Lannisters with more care and diligence than any other family except the king’s, reported to her that Kevan Lannister was supposed to be an unimaginative but reliable executor of Tywin Lannister’s will.</p>
<p>In that regard, his staying in the capital after the tourney ended and the princess’ name day passed was intriguing.</p>
<p>She wondered if it had to do with that other Lannister’s departure: there had been Lord Tyrion here, but only for that one evening of Princess Myrcella’s celebration, before he departed – for the Reach, of all places!</p>
<p>She had given him her letters, chiefly thinking of Willas. She knew perfectly well that her brother had wanted to meet Lord Tyrion for a long time, having heard of his intelligence and propensity for reading and wishing to know whether it was simply an attempt by Lord Lannister to salvage his son’s reputation or whether there was some truth to it. Given their conversation at the feast, Margaery had some little hope, but, sadly, she could have hardly talked with him of books at a feast, or anything intelligent at all, so she would have to leave it to her brother to properly verify the claim. She sent him a raven the very next morning, alerting him of the likely guest. She spent most of the night writing long letters describing her journey, but those, of course, would only arrive with Lord Tyrion.</p>
<p>At any rate, he was gone from the city now, and so no longer relevant to her immediate concerns. But she did wonder if there was some work Tywin Lannister needed done in the city, and that he had entrusted first to his son and then to his brother…and if there was some work he needed done in the Oldtown, too.</p>
<p>Whatever the work was, she was not particularly surprised he would not have given it to Ser Jaime. Much like Loras in this too, the man did not seem cut for court intrigue. Only Tywin Lannister, unlike her father or Lord Renly, seemed to realise it.</p>
<p>That, however, made the count of the most powerful nobles at court complete - unless one meant to count the disgraced Lady Catelyn, the daughter of one lord paramount, widow of another and mother to yet another one.</p>
<p>She was the only woman of Margaery’s rank at court aside from the royals, and she would be, Margaery realised, the only truly suitable…well, not friend, perhaps, but a guiding figure? And by her blood alone, she was a potential wellspring of power and influence.</p>
<p>But for that, she needed to be, well, not in disgrace. </p>
<p>Margaery wondered about what would be in her own best interest in this respect. </p>
<p>Lady Catelyn was mother to Lady Sansa, who, it was an open secret at court, the king intended to betroth to Prince Joffrey as soon as her brother got married and she could return to the capital.</p>
<p>Under these circumstances, Lady Catelyn would likely be naturally opposed to the queen being put aside and Margaery taking her place. After all, a new wife, with potential new children, was always trouble for a heir from another wife. Even if in this case, there would be fourteen years of difference between them at least, so the risk would be minimal. Sansa supposed it would also depend on Lady Catelyn’s relationship with and opinion of Queen Cersei, if she would wish to see her replaced or not. That was hard to estimate: the reports of lady Catelyn’s character around court were wildly disparate, and the only thing they truly agreed on was that she was very devout.</p>
<p>Margaery wondered about that, and how it went with what she had heard of her disgrace.</p>
<p>There were many disparate versions of the events circulating at court, too, but the essentials remained the same: there had been an open confrontation between Lady Catelyn and her son’s important bannerwoman, going, it seemed, as far as the Tully lady slapping the northern woman. Lady Sansa had taken the northern woman’s side, and evicted Lady Catelyn from the Tower of the Hand. The king had neglected to interfere.</p>
<p>The reasons attributed for the conflict were various, from jealousy - the northern woman was said to be Lord Stark’s old lover - to political intrigue. Some even assigned one or both of the women a part in the recently discovered Targaryen plot, which Margaery found particularly humorous.</p>
<p>Even disregarding the history of the rebellion, which made it very unlikely, she did not think that people who tended to complicated assassination plot slapped their enemies in public.</p>
<p>But, all in all, it was intriguing enough, and in the absence of anyone more bearable or interesting at courts, Margaery would have liked to befriend her to find out what happened and discover whether she could derive any advantages from it…but, as it happened, Lady Catelyn had not appeared in public since the confrontation and disgrace.</p>
<p>Where was she, and what were her plans now?</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Next up. Cat, the last chapter before the epilogue!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Catelyn VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Catelyn makes a decision.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In the end, it was Petyr who saved her, as he’d been doing for the last several moon turns.</p><p>First, he comforted her after the disastrous confrontation with the Dustin woman, giving her space to calm herself and come back to her senses. Then, once she realised the depth of what had happened, he offered his comfort once again, this time in her distraction over her own lack of control. And after she finally stopped crying, he offered her a place to hide out, too.</p><p>“The court will be a hostile, unpleasant place to you now,” he told her. “You should not have to face it, and I worry about your health - such shocks and bad treatment can have an effect on it, you know it can. But you also cannot shut up in my rooms for weeks. You should go somewhere at least a little calmer. There is a house in the city that I have been thinking of converting into an inn or a shop of some sorts, but that is empty for now, and belongs to me. If you agree, I will take you there, and it will give you the space to wait out the worst of the court’s enmity.”</p><p>Catelyn agreed. What else could she do?</p><p>So Petyr took her tot hat house once it was dark, and set her up there in comfort. He visited her there every day, and also brought Lady Chelsted to her on a few occasions.</p><p>He brought her news of happenings at court, of the Rosby execution and of Sansa’s departure North, and of what the court was saying about her. The last, he lamented, was not improving as quickly as he had hoped it would, and in the end, one evening nearly two moons later, he came to see her in her and set down next to her, taking her hands in this.</p><p>“Cat,” he said, “I am beginning to understand that this will not get better on its own. You cannot stay hiding in here for the rest of your life. I know this is the last thing you want, but…please, allow me to help you. Please, allow me to marry you.”</p><p>He waited for a moment, but when she didn’t say anything, too numb or surprised or she did not even know what, he went on: “It has been half a year since Lord Stark died. No one could blame you for marrying now. It is…known, around court, that I love you. I am the lord of Rosby now, so the marriage would not be as far beneath you as before. And I would take good care of you, I promise I would.”</p><p>“I know you would,” Catelyn replied, a little absently, as she made herself think properly about his words.</p><p>She had considered this many times before, of course, but at first there had been the difference of station between them, and then later she could not imagine proposing such a thing, even after Lady Elinor’s encouragement. But now Petyr was here instead, proposing it, and she thought, once again, would it truly be so bad?</p><p>And, complementary: what other choice did she have?</p><p>Petyr had brought her a letter from Robb a day after Prince Joffrey’s name day. The date meant it was written before Robb could have learnt of her disgrace. And even in that letter, he ordered her to stay behind in the capital. He told her he would provide the funds, yes, but he also talked about her marrying again, making it more than clear that the funds would run dry one day and that she should find her own way to provide for herself before that. Once he did learn of what happened between her and Lady Dustin, it was more than likely his willingness to continue financing her stay would stop immediately.</p><p>As for Lysa, her sister’s letters had turned from cold to downright poisonous when she wrote, and she had, in fact, explicitly told Catelyn that she was not welcome in the Eyrie. And Edmure was still not back in Riverrun, still entangled in whatever Frey plot drew him away. Riverrun was her best hope, yes, but she had gone over the many ways in which it would be uncomfortable for her many times already, as well as they ways her going there could put the Tullys and the whole of Riverlands in danger, if her timing was bad. She had been thinking of little else since her confrontation with Lady Dustin and its aftermath made it clear she could not continue in the capital as she had until now.</p><p>And once she left King’s Landing, she could hardly come back, even to court, and Petyr would certainly not renew his offer. Even a steadfast man like him had his limits.</p><p>Would marrying him truly be worse than running to Riverrun like a beggar and endangering her family, then?</p><p>She thought about being married to him, and about how she felt about the idea, and found that, if she abandoned the propriety that told her Lord Baelish was not good enough for the daughter of Lord Tully, she did not especially mind the idea at all.</p><p>He was still looking at her anxiously, and she did her best to smile. “You are not only the Lord of Rosby,” she said, reminding herself as well as him, “you sit on the King’s Small Council, too, and perhaps most importantly, you are kind to me.” Truly, after the marriage she had had, what more could she ask? She knew Petyr would never dishonour her the way Lord Stark had, he would never infringe on her rights in that way. Was that not more important than anything else? She saw how little use marriage to a High Lord could be. She would not marry a commoner, of course, but then Petyr was hardly a commoner. He was one of he most influential men in the kingdoms. Yes, their marriage would be scandalous to a degree – he was still lower in rank than her, after all – but it would not be more scandalous than the rumours that were already flying everywhere around his love for her.</p><p>“I would be honoured to marry you, Petyr,” she finally said, hearing how numb her voice sounded but unable to change it.</p><p>He took her hand, and kissed it, and gave her a sad smile. “Trust me, Cat,” he said, “the honour is wholly mine.”</p><p>And that was that. He asked her permission to arrange everything - not that there was much needed. They were not planning to make a spectacle out of it, and as a widow, Catelyn did not need anyone’s permission.</p><p>Still, it would take a few days, and in those few days, Catelyn waited, restless, and tried to come to terms with her changing circumstances.</p><p>At least Lady Elinor was always by her side once it was arrnaged, supportive and so radiantly happy for them that it made even Catelyn herself feel a little excited.</p><p>“I know you do not love him the same way he loves you, my lady,” she told her, “but surely you do love him as a friend?”</p><p>“I do,” Catelyn admitted.</p><p>“That is a better basis for a marriage than most have,” Lady Elinor pointed out, then added gently: “It is better than you had in your previous marriage, I understand.”</p><p>It was not truly surprising that gossip about that reached her, even though Catelyn had never spoken of it. She inclined her head.</p><p>“My happiness at your approaching union is not only because I am friendly with Lord Baelish,” Lady Elinor assured her. “It Is also for you that I am happy. I truly believe you can have a good life with him.”</p><p>“As do I,” Catelyn admitted. And she did, truly. It was not that which made her feel mostly resignation about her approaching nuptials. In truth, she was not certain what it was, exactly. Perhaps she was just tired, tired of fighting for so long and only achieving her own ruin.</p><p>“Will you live in Rosby?” Lady Elinor asked her, pulling her mind back to the conversation.</p><p>“No,” Catelyn replied. “Petyr’s duties tie him to the capital, and he wishes me to stay by his side.”</p><p>In fact, he had begged her for it, when she had first agreed to the marriage. “I understand you might wish to escape court after everything that happened,” he had said, “but please, my lady, do not let me marry you only to lose you.”</p><p>How could she refuse him that?</p><p>It was, she couldn’t help but think, a paradox: in her first marriage, both her and her husband would have preferred had they lived separately, yet the circumstances did not allow for it, nowhere in the North being welcoming to her and not being willing to leave her children enough to go South.</p><p>Now, in her second marriage, an arrangement where they lived separately would have been easy, and her future husband did not wish for it - and in truth, neither did she, or not for the long term.</p><p>She might have preferred to go to Rosby for a month or two directly after the wedding, to get away from court, and in fact she might still ask Petyr for that once their union was complete, but for the long term…she liked the idea fo a husband who actually wanted her close. She did not wish for another marriage in little but a name. She had had quite enough of that.</p><p>“Then I am doubly glad, for not losing your company,” Lady Elinor assured her. “Now, while Lord Baelish oversees most things about the preparation, we cannot possibly ask him to take care of finery, can we? So, tell me, my lady, which dress do you mean to wear?”</p><p>Here, at least, Catelyn’s propensity to buy expensive dresses in Tully colours ever since she arrived int he capital would come in extremely useful. She had no shortage of clothes to choose from, and all of them entirely appropriate for a wedding, even though she would not be waring a maiden cloak.</p><p>And so she arranged for finery, and listened to Petyr’s reports on all other matters, and a few days later, they married. The ceremony was not a great one, and there were only a few friends present for each of them, and the feast was a small, though delicious, affair. There was no bedding ceremony, for which she was grateful, and he was kind to her on their wedding night, gentle and loving, repeating her name over and over again as he burrowed himself in her. She thought of her mechanical, emotionless couplings with Lord Stark and could not help but be grateful for the difference, too.</p><p>Perhaps this was what marriage was meant to be like?</p><p>In the morning, she sat and stared at herself in the mirror. She was Lady Baelish now. Her household would abandon her, she assumed, except for her maid perhaps, and she would have a new one, and move into her new rooms, and start her new life.</p><p>She wondered if she would ever see her children again. She would have liked to see Robb, at least, to be present at his wedding and to give him advice and meet his bride, but she had known that would not happen since his letter had arrived. She did not think, based on it, that she would meet him again.</p><p>Little Bran, too, was likely lost to her, at least until he was a grown man, and what would he even remember of her then?</p><p>And Sansa, whom she would almost certainly meet again...well, Sansa resented her and when she returned to King’s Landing, it would almost certainly be as the Crown Prince’s betrothed, not in any way beholden to Lady Baelish. It was unlikely they would speak much,</p><p>Catelyn’s ties to the North were finally completely broken.</p><p>In spite of everything, that much was a relief.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So…that’s that. Only a short epilogue left in this installment! </p><p>Just for the record, Middle Ages didn’t really have established mourning periods the way later times did, and widows frequently remarried very quickly. Half a year would be a relatively decent time interval.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A view from Dragonstone.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Melisandre stared into the flames, frowning.</p><p>She did not know what more to do.</p><p>When she’d arrived to Dragon Stone, it had at first felt like she was on the brink of a great success: she had converted the wife of the king’s brother to the true faith, and it seemed like her way to the capital was open, and paved in a way that she would be taken more seriously than her disgraced brother in faith. With Lady Selyse, she would have a place at court, she would be closer to the most powerful people in Westeros. She would have a chance to show the Light to the king, perhaps, and then if she managed that - well. Westeros, she knew, was not like Essos, where in most places many faiths lived side by side. In Westeros, there was only the worship of seven false gods in the south and the worship of trees in the North. If she managed to convert the king, then all the false temples would, in time, be replaces by templed of the Lord, and the false faith would be exorcised out of this place.</p><p>For a time after arriving at Dragonstone, Melisandre had believed that she would ensure a bright, devout future for an entire realm.</p><p>But then it turned out Lady Selyse and her husband had a cool marriage, and that the Lord of Dragonstone despised his brother, and in the end, instead of Lady Selyse going to King’s Landing, Lord Stannis came back to Dragonstone, irritable and unfriendly. Far from seeming inclined to embrace the Lord of Light, he was dismissive of her and whatever she did, and made it very clear she only remained on the island on sufferance.</p><p>She had managed to convert a few knights loyal to Lady Selyse, as well, and Lord Stannis’ ward seemed intrigued with the true religion at the very least, but it was nowhere near enough to gain proper respect. The false faith of the seven still reigned supreme even on this small island. </p><p>It frustrated her. If she could not even show the truth to such a small place, how could she ever hope to convert all of Westeros?</p><p>Melisandre knew there must have been a reason why the Lord of Light had called her to this place. She even understood some of the reason - it was the ancient seat of House Targaryen, after all, and she was familiar enough with the legend of the Prince that was Promised to know that this place had potential. </p><p>But she did not know what to <i>do</i>.</p><p>She was at her wit’s end, and no matter how much she prayed, her Lord would not give her answers.</p><p>She needed a sacrifice, she knew, but she also knew that if she tried and was discovered, Stannis would have her executed in a heartbeat. And then what use would her knowledge be? And sadly, sacrifices to the Lord were not the kind that could be done somewhere quietly.</p><p>She thought and thought, trying to find a way around it, and finally she remembered a half-forgotten rite she’d learnt long ago when still in Asshai.</p><p>It was hardly ever used, for the blood of the servants of the Lord was far too precious to be spilt, but she remembered now. There was a way to make use of her own blood.</p><p>And, because her blood was so precious, she would not even need to bleed out completely for the sacrifice to have value...if the Lord found her worthy. With this rite, she knew, her life would be in his hands.</p><p>She felt nervous, and scoffed at herself for it. Would her faith abandon her now? Would she believe the Lord would let her fail without reason? She was a servant of Light. The Great Other could not touch her fate unless her Lord permitted it. If she failed, it was because the Lord wished it so, and then what right would she have to complain?</p><p>It had been only her assumption, after all, that she would find enough open hearts on Dragonstone to convert the island to the true faith. The Lord had never promised that, he had merely told her she needed to go here. Clearly, she needed to rid herself of such assumptions, of arrogantly thinking she knew what the Lord intended.</p><p>A little bloodletting seemed like just the way to let go of her pride with her life force.</p><p>With new energy, once the decision was made, she hastened to gather everything she needed, and then seated herself before the fire, so close that she could extend her forearm over it, and made a cut, so that her blood would drip over the flames.</p><p>She felt the stinking pain of it, and the feeling of blood dripping down her hand.</p><p>She sat, and watched as her head grew gradually lighter, the shadows in the fire beginning to dance before her eyes.</p><p>And just before she passed out, she saw where she needed to go.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So that’s it for The Nest of Vipers, folks!</p><p>Melisandre was originally meant to have a regular chapter to her name, not just an epilogue, because she replaces Davos in the ACOK chapter order, but the way it worked out, she had only one chapter in this story, which felt weird and clunky, so instead I converted it into an epilogue, which is why you get an epilogue from a character that will have a POV in the next installment.</p><p>The following installment is called The Spectre of Dragons and will, I think, be the longest in the series - it has around 50 chapters. Some pretty exciting stuff happens there, too, or at least exciting to me lol. It should also be at least a little less depressing/frustrating than this one? I already posted the very short prologue as a teaser and for your subscribing convenience, but I need a bit of a break from this verse and have other projects urgently demanding my attention, so I mean to begin posting the story in earnest in a month or so, unless I get impatient in the meantime I guess. Go check it out!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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